A Fragile Balance
by simkhalou
Summary: What did it take for Steve to realize that he couldn't do the job right until he got some answers about who or what Shelburne really was? (set between episodes 2.19 and 2.20)
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **A Fragile Balance

**Summary:** What did it take for Steve to realize that he couldn't do the job right until he got some answers about who or what Shelburne really was? (set between episodes 2.19 and 2.20)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or its characters.

**A/N: **This is sort of a gap-filler for between episodes 2.19 and 2.20 . . . which is not what I intended to write. I wanted to write something humorous and light and funny. And I tried. But I guess I have some unresolved issues with season 2 and everything that happened. I didn't really _decide_ to write this story. It kind of forced itself on me. It's the opposite of the story I had in mind. It's angsty and maybe even a bit dark . . . but I guess I needed to get this out of my system.

The story is mostly finished – just in need of a bit of tweaking here and there – so I hope I'll be able to post its parts on a somewhat regular basis.

I apologize for any medical, legal, technical, or other inaccuracies. I tried to do my research but I'm not sure if I managed to get everything (or anything) right.

I hope you'll enjoy reading this :)

* * *

**A Fragile Balance**

**Chapter 1**

"Did you have to park the car _here_?"

Danny blinked against the bright sunlight as he pulled at the collar of his tac-vest, trying desperately to get some sort of ventilation going between the heavy Kevlar and his sweat soaked dress shirt.

Steve, wearing that determined frown on his face, shot him a quick, skeptical look. "We got the best view of the unit from here," he said flatly and went back to do what he had been doing for the last hour.

Staring.

With his eyes practically glued to his set of super-secret-agent/military-high-tech/shoot-me-in-the-face-please binoculars, Steve continued to stare at the row of storage lockers that ran along the far side of one of the shabbier looking warehouses in the industrial area close to the harbor. The Camaro was parked in an alley at the side of the building. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of anyone who came through the warehouse to access the storage units. And, more importantly, they could easily keep watch on their target unit.

Steve could, anyway. Because only Steve McGarrett could actually stare at something as boring as the door of a storage locker for more than two minutes, focused as if it was a bomb that was primed to go off as soon as he dared to blink his eyes.

Danny huffed. The heat inside the car was becoming unbearable. "There's a tree throwing some nice shade right there," he said, waving both hands at a dark spot on the asphalt not ten feet in front of them. "We'll have the same view from over there and get the added bonus of not being roasted alive."

"We are easier seen from over there, too."

"At least turn on the AC then," Danny pleaded, hands reaching for the buttons on the center console.

"Danny," Steve warned, one of his hands swatting Danny's away without even looking.

They had been over this. More than once. Steve didn't want to run the AC on the car's battery. He considered it an unnecessary tactical exposure or some shit. Because they could be sitting here all day, waiting for their target to show up and letting the AC drain the Camaro's battery in the process. And if the car didn't start when the suspect ran, they'd be seriously fucked.

Which was, of course, complete bullshit. Because if they sat in the stinking heat, sweating, dehydrating long enough to drain a car's battery, they'd long be passed out – dead for all Danny knew – by the time anyone showed up. And then there would be no one left to chase after the guy. No one, except for Kono and Chin, who were parked on the other side of the building. The side where there was a lot of nice, cool shade at this time of the day.

"I am dying here, man." Danny lifted his left arm to sniff at his own armpit. "And I'm starting to smell," he added, making a face. He was baiting Steve and he didn't bother to be subtle about it. Not anymore. Ever since they had taken the case, he had been trying to get his partner to loosen up a little. Because this case had him wound up so tightly, Danny was afraid Steve would snap and do something really stupid as soon as he got the chance. Just to blow off some steam.

But Steve ignored him. He was probably too focused to even notice Danny pushing his buttons, let alone to crack a little unfunny joke at Danny's expense. Danny understood, though. There was a lot riding on this bust.

Behind the door of the storage unit were millions in drugs. Crystal methamphetamine. Ice. 20/20 or Batu as the locals called it. The substance to which so-called experts attributed a huge share of Hawaii's skyrocketing crime rate. The substance that kept Governor Denning awake at night, wondering how to convince the people that, in spite of the statistics, he was the right man for another term of office.

Finding the stash had been a sheer coincidence. Two days ago, the owner of the storage facility had wanted to open a locker for the widow of a recently deceased renter, but had accidentally mixed up the locker numbers. He had only realized his mistake after six hours. After he had called the cops and after two overzealous HPD lieutenants had put the confused, seventy-two-year-old, grieving widow through a grueling interrogation about her involvement in her late husband's alleged criminal activities.

Thankfully, the whole fiasco hadn't hit the press – yet. Sparing the Department and Governor Denning the substantial embarrassment, but making the latter that much more determined to finally get a handle on the State's blossoming drug scene. He had assigned Five-0 to the case, impressing on Steve emphatically that he wanted the people responsible for this behind bars by Monday.

Given the fact that it had already been Sunday, not even Five-0 had managed to meet the deadline. The storage unit had been paid for in cash and rented out to a 'John Smith'. There were no prints, DNA or anything else to be found inside the locker, and the facility was only watched by little black plastic boxes that didn't even remotely resemble security cameras to the trained eye. They had no leads, nothing, and still Denning expected them – expected Steve – to just get the job done.

And Steve, the good Navy soldier – sailor, whatever – that he was, had practically been standing at attention while listening to Denning rip him a new one over the phone this morning. It had been painful for Danny to watch. The tight set of Steve's jaw as he tried hard – and actually managed – to hold in the objections to Denning's accusations. Danny almost admired his partner's ability to do that, to not backlash and yell at the arrogant ass. To not tell him to go and arrest his fucking drug dealers himself if he thought that Five-0 wasn't doing a good enough job at it – if he thought they weren't doing anything in their power to find the bastards who were poisoning this lonely rock that his daughter was forced to grow up on.

Yeah, Danny would admire Steve for being able to just suck it up if the whole thing didn't bother and irritate him so much. Yes, he respected the chain of command, his superiors, too. But he also was a firm believer in the concept of questioning authority. Not like Navy boy Steve, who had learned to follow orders blindly. Maybe that worked in the armed forces. Maybe it was sometimes necessary in war to just act and to trust others do the thinking for you. But this wasn't war. This was not a life or death situation. This was just a Governor who saw his popularity declining. Who was looking to share just a fraction of all the blame. Blame for things he had no control over, but blame that kept coming his way relentlessly anyway. It was only human, really, Denning lashing out at Steve for not being able to do the impossible. It was irrational, but maybe this morning it had been just what Denning had needed to not crack under the pressure of the office. And maybe Steve had kept his mouth shut and taken it all in and ended the conversation with a tight 'Yes Sir' because he knew, from experience or whatever, what that kind of pressure felt like.

Maybe Steve was just a better person than Danny. Because no matter how understandable Denning's _human reaction _was, if he had been in Steve's place that morning, he probably wouldn't have a job right now. And wouldn't be sitting in this car-shaped oven, with sweat dripping from every single pore of his body while he was slowly being cooked alive. So fuck being the good guy. Actually, fuck Steve and his brilliant idea to just sit here and wait for the owner of the crystal meth to show up. It was a really, really long shot. But Steve had insisted they did _something_ while they were waiting to hear back from Kamekona.

It had taken some convincing, but the Big Guy had agreed to reach out to his sources for them eventually. Supposedly, the friend of a friend of the grandson of his first cousin twice removed on his mother's side had some high reaching contacts in the meth scene on Oahu. Kamekona was hoping to get them a name within the next twelve hours to nine days. No guarantees.

That was – Danny glanced down at his watch – yup, three hours ago. So . . . nine hours to go. Minimum.

"Fuck."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Danny shook his head and stared out of the window, clamping his mouth shut and sparing his partner the rant that was bubbling up inside his chest. Steve really didn't need anyone else to have another human reaction on him right now. He didn't need Danny to unload his pent up frustration on him, too. Just because he was there and could be blamed for him being stuck in a car in the burning hot sunlight.

Still, the guy could at least let him crack open a window or something.

"What, Danny?" Steve looked at him, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Nothing," Danny said again and then bit down on the insides of his lips, physically sealing his mouth shut.

"Danny." There was a question in there somewhere, or a challenge. 'Come on, get it out. Let's get this over with.' And if it wasn't for the weariness in Steve's eyes – the weariness that told Danny that his partner hadn't gotten a single minute of sleep last night – he probably would have taken the bait.

But not today.

"What?" Danny didn't look at Steve. "I said it's nothing. It's fine. Everything is just fine. This is fun, Steven. I am having a blast." He emphasized each word sharply, as if he was trying to underline the sarcastic tone of his voice.

Yeah, the not ranting part was going great.

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "Look, Danny, I know this–"

"Guys," Kono's disembodied voice cut in, "we've got some movement over here."

Steve's focus was immediately back on the storage unit, eyes squinting as he stared once again through the binoculars to see what Kono and Chin were seeing from their side of the building. They were parked closer to the front and were able to see everyone who came into the warehouse that separated the storage lockers from the street. "What do you got?"

"Uhm, probably false alarm. Just a kid on a skateboard," Kono added hesitantly, as if she was still assessing the situation.

"Yeah," Chin agreed, "but he's acting kind of suspicious. Keeps looking over his shoulder like he's afraid that someone's following him."

Danny rolled his eyes. The kid had probably rented out a storage unit to hide his Playboy magazines and porn movie collection or something. A few years ago, Danny would have probably sympathized with the kid. Growing up with a bunch of sisters had been a special kind of hell. But today, he got more and more wary of adolescent boys with every inch that Grace grew. They were uncontrollable hormonal time bombs out to destroy his sweet, angelic daughter's life before it had even really begun. All of them.

"I got a visual," Steve said, squinting harder. "He's stopping in front of our locker."

That got Danny's attention. He raised his own binoculars and stared at the guy. The kid really didn't look like a big shot dealer. He was barely twenty years old, wore a stained, over-sized t-shirt and had his ass hanging out of his baggy jeans. In short, he looked like Danny's personified nightmare, but not like a career criminal.

The guy pulled something from the pocket of his pants and turned towards the door of the unit. "What's he doing?"

"He's got a lock pick," Steve said, putting his own binoculars down, his left hand going to the handle of the Camaro's door.

"He's got what, a lock pick? What's the idiot doing, robbing the unit?" Danny shot Steve a disbelieving look, because, really, what had they done to deserve this dead end of a case go to an entirely new level of fucked up after sweltering in the Hawaiian heat for hours?

Steve just shrugged, his eyes never leaving the kid who was now working on the lock.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Danny groaned and raked a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, not bothering that he was messing it up. What kind of moron tried to break into some drug lord's crystal meth stash in bright daylight? "Now what?"

"We take him down," Steve decided abruptly. He was out of the car before his words even registered in Danny's brain.

Unholstering his weapon, Danny quickly followed his partner. He heard Steve order Chin and Kono to move in from their side of the building to make sure the kid didn't get away.

There was a wide-open space between the warehouse and the row of storage units, but the dumbass was too busy working on the lock to notice Steve and Kono approaching him from both sides. They stayed behind the him, trying to stay out of his peripheral vision. Chin and Danny both hung back, providing cover and making sure the kid didn't get far if he should try to make a break for it.

Ten yards away, Steve stopped and blew out a sharp whistle, making the kid jump. He whirled around and stared at them in dumbfounded surprise for a moment. "Five-0, show me your hands," Steve ordered loud and clear, keeping his drawn gun leveled to the ground.

There was a moment of silence. No one moved. After a minute, Danny could see the kid swallow hard before he drew up his arms and walked a few steps away from the door of the locker, eyes glued to the gun in Steve's hands.

Danny must have blinked then, because the next thing he knew was that the kid was on the move. He had spun around and leaped off the ground onto a trash container next to the unit's door. Another second later, he was on the locker's roof. Kono yelled, ordered him to stop and took aim at the same time.

"Hold your fire," Steve shouted, holding up his left hand to Kono, while sliding his own gun into its holster. A second later, the Camaro's keys were flying in Danny's direction. "I'll go after him, you cut him off," Steve yelled, already running up towards the trash container. The kid had long disappeared behind the row of storage units when Steve followed him, jumping from the trash container up to the flat roof.

Danny had caught the keys without realizing it, staring after his partner until he was just gone. He exchanged a look with Kono. She just shrugged and rolled her eyes in a 'are you really surprised' kind of way. Danny huffed.

"Looks like they're headed towards to docks," Chin called from somewhere behind Kono. "Go, Danny, we'll catch up!" Then he turned around and headed back to his car, Kono following just a few steps behind.

Cut him off. Danny had no idea where exactly Steve and the guy were headed, but yeah, sure, no problem.

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_- to be continued -_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A few minutes later, Danny was steering the Camaro onto a narrow road, lined on each side by ugly, run-down looking warehouses, leading towards the harbor basin. The water. Dead end.

A suspect hitting a dead end was never a good thing. Dead ends were good for ending a chase, sure thing, but when someone on the run saw no way out anymore – trapped and desperate – things could go really, really bad really, really fast. Trapped, desperate people had a tendency to do stupid things. Like shooting guns.

Thankfully, Danny hadn't seen a gun on the kid before. And, judging by his looks, he'd never stand a chance in a hand-to-hand fight against Super SEAL. But you learned to not judge a book by its cover in this job. And the guy had surprised Danny already twice today.

First, when he had decided to run. And then again when Danny had finally – after minutes of seemingly aimless driving – spotted Steve. He was gaining ground on the kid but it looked like he was just not quite able to close the distance between them. The guy was fast. More than that, he was like some sort of circus freak, leaping over trash bins and containers and parked trucks like a frog. Which, of course, didn't really seem to bother Steve, who was his very own brand of freak.

At some point, they had jumped over a shoulder-high brick wall and Danny had lost his visual on Steve, the tall buildings blocking his view from whatever cross-country path his partner was chasing this kid down on now. When came up at a crossing a few seconds later, Danny didn't know what to do. He was about hit the brakes and ask Kono and Chin for their current location when he saw something out of the corner of his eye, high up in the sky.

Trying to keep one eye on the road, Danny craned his neck to the side, looking up and out of the window on the passenger side. And yes, there were Steve and the kid, running across the approximately twenty feet high rooftops of the warehouses, jumping over the narrow passages between them.

Fucking idiots.

The dock came closer and closer, but the two of them up there didn't seem to notice or care, because they were not slowing down, running at full speed towards the last building – which was separated from the water by an albeit narrow but asphalted (and thus very, very hard) road.

Danny sped up, shooting ahead of Steve and the kid, keeping his focus on the quickly nearing harbor basin in front of him. Only a few yards away from the edge, he hit the brakes hard and yanked the steering wheel to the right, making the Camaro skid around the corner and onto the driveway that ran along the dock. He stopped the car and pushed the door open. Jumping out of his seat he turned around and looked up, half expecting the kid, followed by Steve (because, yeah, the moron would not hesitate to risk the jump across the fifteen feet wide road), to come flying over his head.

But no. No one jumped. God bless the kid for having a last shred of common sense in his brain.

Instead, he heard Steve's voice – panting and out of breath, but firm and authoritative nonetheless – yell, "Hands! Show me your hands, and turn around. Slowly."

Then there was silence. Danny contemplated whether he should find a way to get up on that roof, too, but decided that maybe it'd be better to just wait down here instead and see if Steve was pissed enough to throw the kid down.

He was about to contact Kono and Chin (who should be around here _somewhere_) to let them know where the chase had ended (not that he actually knew where he was, but 'by the dock' would surely give them a close enough idea) but then he heard Steve's voice again.

„No! No, don't!"

The slightly frantic tone in his partner's voice made Danny look up just in time to see something black come flying off the rooftop. He let his gaze follow the small object as it skated in a high arch over the narrow driveway he was standing on, before it dropped into the harbor basin to his right with a dull plop.

Someone grunting, followed by the distinct sounds of a struggle made Danny's head snap back to the left, looking up again. "Steve?" he yelled, squinting against the blinding sunlight to see what was going on up there. Instead of a response, he only heard the sound of someone hitting the rooftop hard with a pained 'Oof'. "Hey Steve, you good?"

But his partner still didn't answer. Instead, he just heard heavy footsteps pounding on the roof, getting closer to the edge – and then silence.

Like Rocky, the fucking Flying Squirrel – minus the jet engine sound effects and the actual ability to fly – he saw Steve up in the air. Danny stared blankly as his partner sailed over his head and across the very, very hard asphalt road, arms whirling in huge circles as if he was trying to propel himself further forward, fighting against the incessant downward pull of gravity.

Gravity, however, seemed to be no match for Steve McGarrett, the fucking Flying Super SEAL. He missed the sharp brick edge of the dock by about half a foot and disappeared from Danny's view into the harbor basin. The loud splashing sound and flying spray of water following a fraction of a second later told him that Steve had hit the water.

Thank god.

Puffing his cheeks, blowing out a relieved breath, Danny shook his head.

Stupid _fucking _idiot.

He jogged towards the edge of the dock where his partner had vanished, looked down into the basin and saw . . . nothing. The water seemed barely disturbed, even almost. Only tiny, shallow waves were licking against the wall of the dock – but no sign of Steve.

"He okay?" Kono's voice yelled from somewhere. Danny didn't turn around, his eyes too busy scanning the water for his partner – but there was nothing, no bubbles, no movement. Only water. Lots and lots of dirty, smelling water. Danny hated water.

"Come on," he muttered, "don't make me drag your sorry ass out of there."

"He still under?" Chin was suddenly there, standing next to him, peering over the edge. Good. _He_ could dive into that septic tank to fish out Apparently-not-so-Super-SEAL-after-all Steve McGarrett.

"Yeah," Danny nodded.

"You think we should–"

A splash, followed by a hand holding some kind of black, rectangular box-thing breaking the surface cut Chin off. Steve's head – popping up from the dark, grimy depth of the water – came up next. He spouted some water and sucked in a few deep breaths. "I got it," he panted while making sure the black box didn't dip under water again. For whatever reason. The thing was already wet.

"Terrific." Danny rolled his eyes. Whatever it was, it could not be worth the years that the little stunt from his partner had just shaved off his life.

"Yo Chin," Steve called from below them, wiggling the black box in his hand, "catch!"

He tossed the thing up and Chin, graceful and elegant as he was, easily grabbed the box mid-flight while smoothly sidestepping the sludgy spatter Steve had shot up along with it.

"What is it?" Danny asked, eying the thing curiously, but carefully keeping his distance from the filthy object.

"Looks like a hard drive," Chin said thoughtfully, slowly turning the box in his hands.

"It got wet," Danny stated the obvious. So, yeah, he was no expert in these computer things, but he did know that they had a tendency to stop functioning when they came in contact with anything liquid. Like the laptop he'd killed with a bottle of beer not too long ago.

"Not just wet," Kono commented, scrunching up her nose.

"Looks like a job for Fong, maybe he'll be able to pull something off of it," Chin said with a shrug.

"Yo guys!"

"Anyone hear anything?" Danny asked loudly, making a show of looking around.

"No, why?" Kono grinned.

Danny shook his head and shrugged. "Don't know, I thought I heard something."

"Little help here, guys!"

…

It took them a good fifteen minutes and some assistance from HPD to get Steve out of the water. Because, yeah sure, Danny had hand grenades in the glove compartment of his car, thanks to Steve, and god knows what other equipment stored in an ominous duffel bag in the trunk. But the moron had not thought to put something as simple as a rope in there. Or anything that could be used in actual real life situations for that matter. And, surprisingly, not even Steve McGarrett could climb up the straight six foot brick wall of the dock on his own. Whatever happened to Rocky, right?

But being stuck in the water did not stop the control freak from handing out orders. He had sent Chin and two HPD units back to the storage facility to continue the exciting task of watching the crystal meth stash. Kono had had the honor to go up on the warehouse roof to collect the kid who Steve had 'temporarily detained', which (unsurprisingly) was just Neanderthal speak for 'punched out cold'.

Danny, however, had successfully managed to delegate his job of getting Steve out of the water to two HPD officers. That old knee injury was preventing him from physically aiding in the rescue efforts. His knee always seemed to bother him more the closer he was to the water.

No, really. Cross my heart and hope to die. Scout's honor. And all that.

He had stayed around though, offering some very helpful advice. The Coast Guard was just one phone call away.

As soon as Steve had solid ground under his feet, everyone took a respectful step back. Because, frankly, he reeked and no one, including Danny, was particularly keen on getting any of that grimy harbor water on them.

"Thanks guys," Steve said with a nod to the two very young and very brave HPD officers that had helped pull him over the edge of the dock, and began to loosen the strips of his soaked Kevlar vest. He pulled the filthy thing off and had the nerve to hold it out to Danny.

"I'm not touching that," he said, making a disgusted face.

Steve rolled his eyes and dropped the vest to the ground instead. "What about the kid?" he asked, wiping away the water dripping from his messy hair to his forehead.

"Oh, you mean the one you knocked out cold on the roof–" he waved a hand at the warehouse behind him "–before you took your little swim in the place where the fish go to die?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Steve growled annoyed and kicked off his boots.

"HPD's got him in custody, they're taking him to the ER," Danny said, watching as his partner pulled on his soggy left sock.

"The ER?" Steve asked, making that 'come on, I barely even touched him' face.

"He was complaining of chest pain, which, you know, always freaks the medical types right out. The paramedics insisted to have him checked out. It's probably just bruised ribs or something."

Steve just nodded as he scrunched up the left sock to a ball in his hand and then went to work on the right one.

"Anyway, the kid seemed fine to me. Probably never had more than three teeth in his mouth," Danny added, making sure the sarcastic tone in his voice was evident enough so that even Steve would pick up on it.

"He came at me, Danny. I didn't exactly have a choice," Steve said, dropping both successfully removed socks on the heap of vest and shoes.

Danny just nodded in a 'yeah-yeah' kind of way.

"What about the drive?"

"Yeah, what about the drive? What's on that thing anyway that's worth taking a dive in this sewage plant?"

"No idea," Steve said with a shrug and then proceeded to pull his tee over his head, also tossing it on the reeking pile on the floor. "But must be something important since he clearly didn't want us to get it."

"Right." Danny stared down at his partner's discarded clothes and scrunched up his face. He expected dung flies to descend on the heap any second now. He then looked back up at Steve. "Hey, what's that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at a football-sized red bruise forming above the ribs on his right side.

Steve looked down and shrugged. "I said he came at me. He got in a good hit, so what?"

"With what, a sledgehammer?"

Steve just rolled his eyes.

"What? How did he manage to leave a mark like that _through _your vest?"

"The kid packed a mean punch," Steve said with a shrug.

"You sure you got the right guy? Because the kid from the storage unit did not look like Two Ton Tony to me."

"Who's Two Ton Tony?"

"Tony Galento, famous heavyweight boxer _and_ actor from New Jersey."

"Hey boss," Kono called from behind Danny as she came walking over to them, "found this in the back of my car." She grinned and tossed a pink towel at Steve, mindful to keep her distance.

He easily caught it with his right hand, smiled a thank you at her and began to dry off, starting with his hair.

"You know that's not gonna cut it, right?"

"What?" Steve asked, peeking up at Danny from under the towel, squinting in confusion.

"You're not going anywhere near my car smelling like that."

Steve just shot him a look. He did that. It was supposed to be some sort of non-verbal counter-argument. Something witty probably that brooked no room for any further discussion. Something that other people were supposed to understand, because, what, he scrunched up his eyebrows in such an expressive manner?

Okay, granted, Danny did have a vague idea of what the imbecile wanted to communicate. He wanted to park his ass (still covered in grimy, soggy cargo pants) in one of the Camaro's seats, preferably on the driver's side. And hopefully, _hopefully_ after that, he planned to drive to the nearest shower to get cleaned up. Though that last part was not a given, since Steve seemed not the least bit bothered by the smell (which, really, was getting worse and worse with each second he was standing around in the sun) or the dung flies that had to be very, very close by now.

But no, neither Steve nor the flies, nor any of his filthy clothes, and not even Kono's pink towel were going anywhere near his beloved car.

"No way."

"Come on, Danny," Steve pleaded as he slung the towel around his neck, using one end to wipe across his face again.

"No."

Steve just rolled his eyes and then shot a dopey puppy-eyed look in Kono's direction, raising a hopeful eyebrow at her.

"Uh-uh, no." She shook her head vehemently and took a step back, holding up both hands in front of herself as if she was afraid Steve would suddenly just ledge onto her. "I gotta head over to the lab and get Charlie started on that hard drive, sorry." She cringed slightly as she shot Danny an apologetic look.

He just gave her a dismissive wave with his hand. All of this wasn't Kono's fault after all. "It's okay, I'll just call a fire truck, have them hose him down and wrap him into one of those scratchy blankets."

Kono snorted. "I don't know man, looks more like a job for a hazmat team to me."

"Even better," Danny commented and looked over to his partner, expecting to see aneurysm face, but he was just standing there, his head tilted to the side, one finger wiggling around in his left ear.

"Hey, stop that," Danny yelled, waving his hands at Steve to get his attention.

"Huh?"

"Stop doing that before you make yourself go deaf."

Steve just frowned but stopped poking around in his ear. Instead, he started shaking his head like a wet dog.

"Hey, watch it!"

Both Danny and Kono took another couple steps back to dodge the spatter flying off of Steve.

"Well, I gotta run," Kono decided and patted Danny on the back. "You can keep the towel, boss," she called over her shoulder as she hurried towards her car.

Steve squinted as he watched her leave and then looked a little helplessly over to Danny. "What'd she say?" He sniffled and unnecessarily added, "I think I got some water in my ear." He then squeezed his eyes shut and slapped the side of his head with his flat palm a couple times.

"You don't say." Danny rolled his eyes and huffed.

...

_- to be continued -_

* * *

**A/N: **First off, a big Thank You to those who took the time to leave a review. I greatly appreciate it. Your kind, encouraging words made me very happy!

Second, and just for the record, I wrote this way before 3.04 aired. But I'm still sorry about sort of giving you a repeat of Steve jumping into polluted water and Danny watching from above.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **First of all, I forgot to add the spoiler warning in the first chapter. So, warning, (unsurprisingly) there will be spoilers for pretty much everything leading up to and including episode 2.20. This chapter specifically mentions events from 2.10 and 2.16.

Second of all, this chapter is a little longer than the previous two. I had it originally split up in two parts but the first was rather short and there was not a lot happening so I decided to merge the two chapters. I hope you'll enjoy this part of the story (and that you don't get bored and fall asleep half way through it).

And, last but not least, thank you for reading the last chapter (and for giving this one a shot)! Again, I'm very grateful to those who took the time to write a review! It means a lot to read your thoughts on the story and I'm glad to that you seem to be enjoying it so far. Thank you!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Danny stood hunched over the smart table when Steve walked into HQ about an hour later. Back at the docks, he had successfully managed to delegate the task of getting his partner somewhere within walking distance of a shower to the two rookies who had already helped pull him out of the water. All it had taken was the promise to put in a good word with Duke for them. And Steve himself had been too busy with his clogged up ear to really care.

"Well, look at you. You showered," Danny grinned as he stood up straighter.

Steve just frowned a little. "You hear anything from Chin?" He walked up to the smart table and stood next to Danny, peering down to see what he was working on.

Now it was Danny's turn to frown. He leaned in over to Steve a little and then sniffed in some air near his shoulder a couple times. "Navy shower or real shower?" he asked suspiciously, even though he knew the answer. The little detour Steve had taken into the water warranted more than just a real shower. A long bath with some nice smelling bath-oils was in order to get rid of the incessant stench of diesel fuel and dead fish. But given the ongoing investigation and its Denning-inflicted urgency, Danny figured he should be happy that his partner had taken the time to shower at all.

"What?"

"Never mind," Danny said with a dismissive wave of his hand and moved a little to the left, away from Steve and the lingering smell. "Chin checked in a few minutes ago, it's all quite, but–"

"Sorry, what?"

Danny frowned again. "I said, no news from Chin," he repeated, louder this time. "Are you okay?"

Steve just nodded. "Anything from Kono?" He asked, squinting down at the display on the table.

"She's still at the lab."

"Huh?" Steve's hand absently moved to his ear as he started working his jaw.

"Kono. Lab," Danny all but yelled. "Is your ear still blocked?"

"It's just water or something. What do you got on the kid?"

"Do I need to take you to some kind of specialist or something?" Danny asked and then clamped his mouth shut. Because, yeah, there was a pretty obvious joke about his partner's questionable sanity to be made here, but given Steve's impaired hearing it would probably fall flat anyway.

"It's fine. What do you got?"

Danny sighed. "Uhm, well, the kid's name is Travis Dyer," he started, speaking louder than usually to make sure Steve heard him. "Nineteen, high school dropout, still lives with his parents."

"He got a record?"

"About a mile long. Even spent some time in juvie a while back." Danny took another glance down at the screen. "Thirteen charges, most of which made it to trial. Seven convictions, but nothing ma–"

"Thirty arrests and only seven convictions?" Steve stared at him incredulously. "What, did this punk-ass pay off the whole bench?"

"Thir_teen_!" Danny repeated loudly, stabbing a finger a couple times at the table where the information was displayed. "You sure your ear is okay?"

"_You_'re mumbling."

The nerve.

Steve swatted Danny's hand away to take a look at Travis' file himself. Danny huffed offended.

"Possession, possession, possession, a couple DUIs, shoplifting," Steve read out loud as he scanned the information.

"Yeah, nothing major," Danny concluded, clasping his hand together. "As I was gonna say before," he added, bouncing on his heels.

"Nothing like fifty kilos of Ice," Steve mumbled, drawing his own conclusion as if he hadn't even heard Danny. Well, he probably hadn't. "He say anything else yet?"

"No, HPD just brought him in two minutes ago. Because, as you very well know, they had to take him to the ER first to get checked out – because _someone_ knows how to hit the solar plexus just a little bit too well." Danny pursed his lips and put his hands on his hips as he glared at Steve. Having suspects go to the ER always entailed more paperwork and was therefore not okay.

Steve just flashed Danny a cocky smile. "Alright, let's talk to this guy, see what he knows."

…

"I don't know nothing about no meth."

"Woah, woah, hold on." Danny spread his arms wide and shot Steve a quizzical look. "Help me out here, I lost my count. Were those enough negatives to put us back into the positives, or . . .?"

Steve acknowledged the comment with half an eye roll. He stood with his arms crossed right in front of Travis, who was sitting on the hard metal chair in the middle of the otherwise unfurnished, dark interrogation room.

"What did you want in that locker?" Steve asked, putting his hands on his hips as he bent down to get to eye-level with Travis. Danny figured the intimidating SEAL routine should work extra well today since his partner still reeked like a pile of dead rats.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Travis shrugged and stared into the far corner of the room

"Don't– don't play dumb with us," Danny groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a couple of steps back – Steve could deal with this dumbass. He seemed to enjoy that kind of stuff a lot more anyway.

"What's on the drive?"

"What drive?" Travis jerked up one shoulder again and – in spite of the pain the move must have cost him – slouched down further on the chair, making it look oddly comfortable in the process. Which, in itself, was infuriating enough. But it was the smugness of the idiot's grin – complete with two missing teeth and purple bruising on his jaw line that just _screamed_ 'paperwork!' – that pushed Danny over the edge.

"What drive?" Throwing up both hands in frustration, Danny whirled around to shoot Steve another look. "He wants to know what drive. Just exactly what drive _are_ you talking about, Steven?"

Steve, eyebrows creased in confusion, opened his mouth to say something, but Danny didn't give him the chance to get a word in. (It's called a rhetorical question, moron.)

"I'm gonna tell you what drive he's talking about. He's talking about the drive you dumped into the harbor, you dipshit! Which, by the way, is the reason why he–" Danny waved an arm in Steve's direction, "–does not just smell like he lives in a pet crematory. No, you–" Danny stabbed an index finger into Travis' breastbone, eliciting a pain filled hiss due to the bruised ribs "–also made him half deaf. And you made him punch you. And all–" stab, "–those–" stab, "–things–"

"Ow!"

"–make my job just _that_ much more unpleasant than it is thanks to jerk-offs like you anyway. Now, would you please, _please_ tell us what you know or I swear to god, I'll have him punch you again."

…

"Is there something you wanna tell me, Danno?" Steve asked as he caught up with Danny on their way back from the interrogation room to their offices.

"I hate this case," Danny ground out and then stopped abruptly. "I hate that kid." He pointed a finger down the hall to the room where they had left Travis. "And, for the love of god, get that ear checked out!"

"Danny–"

"Don't say that it's fine. I will beat you dead with a shovel."

"Danny–"

"What if something were to lay eggs in there, huh? What if those things are hatching right now and—" Danny stopped. So, yeah, okay, he was not making sense right now, but he _was_ trying to make a point here. "–and eat what little brain you have," he finished, tiredly.

Steve frowned. "You have seen Enemy Mine one too many times, man."

Danny just nodded and forced a sarcastic smile on his lips. He then turned around to head to his office but a hand on his shoulder stopped him short.

"Hey, what's wrong, Danno?" Steve looked at him, his expression serious, eyes filled with concern. "Is there something going on with Grace, or Gabby?"

"What?" The question perplexed him. Danny shook his head and sighed again. "No, no they– they're fine. Of course, Grace was not exactly thrilled that our weekend got cut short by four million bucks in crystal meth, but, you know, she's knows how it is. It's not like it was the first time a case messed up our plans, so . . ."

"Danny, man, I'm really sorry," Steve said, looking at him with sincere regret in his eyes. But there was more. Guilt.

Fuck. Danny wanted beat _himself_ dead with a shovel for that one.

"Maybe if you give Rachel a call–"

"Hey, don't worry about it, okay." Danny put a hand on Steve's arm and gave it a light squeeze to underline the okay-ness of the whole situation. Even though the 'situation' was far from okay. The Grace part kind of was. In comparison, anyway. It was Steve who made him furious. Or rather Steve's twisted sense of responsibility. Or Denning, who was putting too much pressure on him and thus made Steve act the way he did in the first place. It was all kind of confusing, figuring out which part of this mess really was the source of his anger. Maybe he should just focus on Denning and his high as the sky expectations. 'Pressure makes diamonds', they say. But sometimes, pressure turned former Navy SEALs into loose cannons that took unnecessary risks and did stupid things.

Like jumping off of rooftops.

Steve's voice flashed through Danny's head –

"_Dennis, listen– Listen to me! Hey, hey! No, no! No!"_

– followed by the image of him jumping off the roof of a fourteen-story building – just because their suicidal suspect had.

And today he hadn't even tried to save someone's life. It had just been a hard drive. A fucking, potentially very useless hard drive.

"Then what is it?"

Steve's voice startled Danny out of the too recent memory.

"What is what?"

"Why are you so angry?"

Danny opened his mouth to tell him – again – that he was angry because he was an angry person per se, when Steve added, "Angrier than usually."

Danny held Steve's still concerned gaze for a moment before he let his eyes drop to the floor and heaved a sigh. "It's just . . . you."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing," Danny said quickly, looking back up to Steve who now just stared at him confused. "You– you didn't _do_ anything." Aside from jumping off of yet another roof. And punching Travis Dyer in the face. But after questioning the guy, Danny felt like Steve had been too easy on the kid.

"Then what, Danny?" There was a note of frustration in Steve's voice now.

"It's just– You shouldn't let Denning get to you like that."

"What?"

That was it. He was gonna drag Steve to an ENT specialist _right now_. "I said, you shouldn't let Denning get to you like that," Danny repeated loudly.

"And why is that, Detective?" a deep and eerily calm voice asked from behind his back.

Shit. Danny froze, balling his hands to fists. He glared up at Steve for not giving him the heads up, and then slowly turned around to face the man standing behind him. "Governor," he said and swallowed hard, forcing a smile on his lips. "To what, uhm, do we owe the pleasure?"

Denning just narrowed his eyes at Danny and then looked up to Steve. "Your office. Now."

…

Danny looked up somewhat hopeful to the screen of his computer, but all that stared back at him was a blank and annoyingly white document. Great. He let his gaze drift down to the clock in the bottom corner and sighed. An entire minute had passed since he had checked the time. So he was getting better at this. Waiting. Patience.

It had only been five minutes since Denning had dragged Steve into his office, telling, not asking Danny not to follow them inside. Danny had protested, of course, because he knew that Steve was about to do something stupid, like not say anything and just let Denning verbally work out his frustration on him. Again. But an uncharacteristically soft and tired sounding 'Danno, please,' from Steve had managed to shut him right up. With his lips firmly pressed together, Danny had walked back to his own office – because he had a clear view of Steve's from there. He had then pulled up a new document to get started on his report, but so far, he hadn't gotten past the date.

Monday. Figures.

He looked over to Steve's office again, only to see what he had seen for the last almost-six minutes. Denning was pacing up and down in front of Steve's desk, arms folded across his chest. Danny couldn't quite understand what he was saying, but the occasional droning 'embarrassment' or 'incompetence' or something equally unjustified did reach his ears. The man usually had a firm grip on his temper, but today, Danny could see his control slipping.

Across from Denning, Steve stood behind his desk, hands on his hips, head hanging lowly, and gazing blankly at the floor. At first he had tried to get a word in a few times, to explain the situation to and to make him understand that they were doing everything they could. But Denning had cut him off every time, barking at Steve that he didn't want to hear any excuses loud enough for Danny to hear.

"Knock, knock."

Danny looked over to the door to his office. "Hey," he said and motioned for Kono to come in with a nod of his head.

"What's going on in there?" She jerked a thumb in the direction of Steve's office.

"It's the, uhm, live version of the long distance shellacking from this morning."

"Ah." Kono raised her eyebrows in understanding and sat down on the edge of Danny's desk. "Sucks to be the boss sometimes," she commented as she craned her neck to get a better view of what was going on inside Steve's office.

Danny found her staring a little intrusive (not that he hadn't been doing the same for the last really-close-to-six minutes, but that was something completely different. Steve was his partner after all, so he had a vested interest in knowing just how abysmal his mood would be in the near future.). He cleared his throat loudly and clapped his hands together in front of him to get Kono's attention. "You, uhm, get anything from Fong?"

"Huh?" she said absently, still staring into Steve's office.

"The drive, Kono."

"Oh." She looked down at Danny, not a hint of embarrassment on her face for the inappropriate curiosity. "Well, it'll take a few hours but Charlie said he might be able to reconstruct some of the data."

"That's . . . fantastic," Danny sighed.

"Did the kid give you a clue as to what's on the thing?"

"Not really."

Kono frowned at the vague answer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The drive isn't his. He stole it. Or as he put it, he 'looted' it."

"Looted it, as in . . ."

"Took it from a dead man." Danny sighed again and raked a hand through his hair. "According to him, he was 'hanging out' by the parking deck at the Ala Moana Center late last night when he noticed 'some dudes in suits' – his words, not mine, I swear." Kono opened her mouth to say something, but Danny continued before she could get a word in. "And yes, it rhymes and, no, I'm not making this up."

"Riiiight," Kono drawled. Danny ignored her. Mostly.

"He said he heard those guys arguing on the level above him."

"Shady," Kono commented, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Danny frowned irritably at the repeated interruption. "That's supposedly when he overheard them talking about the storage unit and the drugs. Anyway, next thing he knows, one of the guys drops down right in front of him with a bullet hole in his chest. Then Dyer, ever the opportunist, grabbed the dead guy's suitcase – which, coincidentally, dropped right at his feet too – and ran."

"And instead of millions in cash or a key to the unit there was just the hard drive in the suitcase," Kono concluded. The smile tugging at her lips told Danny that she didn't exactly buy Travis' story either. "Supposedly."

"Yeah. And he says that when he saw us at the storage unit, he thought the suit people had sent us and that's why he ran and dunked the drive."

"That's ridiculous."

Danny just shrugged. "You know, he seems too stupid to make something like this up."

Sighing, Kono shook her head. "You want me to head over to Ala Moana to check for blood or anything?"

"Already sent a couple units to check it out." Danny smiled up at her. "Sorry, you gonna have to do your shopping on your own time."

"Damn," Kono growled in mock disappointment. "You guys hear anything from Chin?"

"Nope. It's all quiet."

"It's not like we expected anyone to show up in bright daylight anyway."

"No one with a brain."

"Right."

_Boom_.

Danny's head snapped up to Steve's office again. His partner still stood there, in the same spot he had been standing for the past six minutes (and two seconds), but now he was tiredly rubbing a hand over his face. The glass door slowly swung back open, still humming with vibration from the force with which Denning had just slammed it shut.

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the Governor leave HQ.

Good.

He exchanged a look with Kono. She was biting down hard on her bottom lip, her face scrunched up in sympathy. "Wow. I've never seen Denning that pissed."

"Perks of being the rookie," Danny muttered, looking over to Steve again. He looked about ready to punch something. This was not gonna be pretty. "You only get to deal with our oh-so-benevolent dictator."

Steve suddenly looked up and over to Danny's office – catching both of them staring at him. The expression on his face darkened in annoyance before he waved a hand at them, motioning for them to come over to his office.

Danny exchanged another look with Kono. She just shrugged her shoulders, hopped off his desk and headed for the door. Danny trailed a few feet behind her, not sure what to expect.

He hated this. Denning, drugs, elections, the media – Steve. Everything. Sucking in a deep breath, Danny reminded himself that it was Monday. Everything was gonna be okay by tomorrow.

By the time he entered his partner's office, Steve had dropped into the chair behind his desk. He sat bent forward, head hanging, elbows propped up on his thighs with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He looked tired.

"That was . . . colorful," Danny said and waved an arm in the direction in which Denning had just left.

Steve gave the smallest jerk of his head to acknowledge the comment. He then pulled himself up straight and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as if the movement had cost him a substantial amount of what little energy he had left.

Danny shot yet another glance over to Kono. She just stood there, arms crossed in front of her chest and sucking at her bottom lip, looking uncharacteristically helpless.

"We're off the case," Steve suddenly said, opening his heavy-lidded eyes again.

"What? Why?" Kono threw up her hands, looking confused and angry. She came in second, right after their fearless leader, when came to taking things like this too personal.

Danny didn't do that anymore – hadn't for a long while. He had been in law enforcement long enough to come to accept the politics that came with the job. Sure, he wanted to get those dealers, too, but not at any cost. Not like this. If Denning felt like there was someone else to handle the job better, please, by all means. Those fifty kilos of Ice were barely a blip on the State's crime radar after all. Hardly worth losing any sleep over.

But for a control freak with an exaggerated sense of responsibility like Steve, this had to be torture. Who knew what sort of unrealistic expectations those Navy people had drilled into his thick skull – about seeing a job through and the unacceptability of failure. He was bound to take shit like this personal.

"The DEA is going to handle the case now," Steve said and sighed.

"Why?" Kono asked again, planting her hands on her hips.

"Because it's their jurisdiction anyway," Danny said before Steve could explain the situation. His partner would only give her some self-deprecating version of the reality because his mission-focused brain was unable to comprehend what all this came down to in the end.

Politics.

Danny hated politics. And Kono needed someone to make her understand and hate politics, too. "Denning only wanted us on the case in the first place because _he_ wanted a quick win on his resume. He took a risk with that because if we don't deliver, the media and god knows who else will tear him apart for taking the case from the feds. We're off the case because now, all he can do is damage control. Hand the case off to the feds and have his people put some twist on the story that makes him look like he did everything right. He's shifting responsibility, and blame, and he's shifting his frustration to the next person available." He gestured to Steve, "Politics, you know. It's–"

"A shifty business," Kono finished for him with a small smile.

"Exactly."

"But we've been on this case for, what, a little over twenty-four hours?" Kono frowned at her watch, probably noticing that it was closer to thirty-six by now. "Denning didn't think we could wrap up this one that fast. I mean, there was barely anything to go on."

"We're just too good at this," Danny said with a shrug.

Kono snorted out a laugh and plopped down on one of the armchairs in front of Steve's desk. "You're so full of it," she said shaking her head.

"I'm serious. We did some pretty decent work in the past. It raises unrealistic expectations." Dropping into the other chair next to Kono, Danny shot a pointed look in Steve's direction. To his surprise, the idiot was smiling at him lopsidedly. "What?"

"Nothing," Steve simply said, still smiling.

"I'm right and you know it."

"Aren't you always?" Kono said, failing to hide a teasing, dimply smile.

"Watch it," Danny warned her.

"So, what now?" Kono asked, looking over to Steve.

He heaved another sigh and pursed his lips. "Now you guys head home. Take the morning off tomorrow, too. It's been a long weekend."

"Seriously?" Kono asked, already rising from her chair.

"Yeah, go," Steve encouraged her, waving a hand toward the door of his office. "Paperwork can wait."

Kono nodded and turned to leave but stopped when she reached the door. "Hey, you want me to give Chin a call. He's still camped out in front of that storage unit."

"Nah, I'll take care of it." Steve jerked his head to the door. "Go catch some waves."

"Okay," Kono said with a grateful smile. "Hey boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Get some rest. You look like shit."

"Goodbye, Kono."

Danny waited until the door fell shut behind her before he turned to face Steve. He took a moment to study his partner's face and then shrugged. "She's right, you know. You do look like shit."

"Thanks, Danno."

"And you smell."

"Anything else?" Steve raised his eyebrows tiredly.

Danny huffed a small laugh and just shook his head. He wasn't one to beat a man when he was down. Not today anyway. "So . . . what are _you_ gonna do?"

"Hm?" Steve frowned.

"You said 'you guys head home'. What are you gonna do?" Danny pursed his lips as he once again studied Steve face, this time looking for some kind of reaction. "Anything . . . stupid planned for the night?" Like jumping off of any more rooftops.

Steve sighed and glared at him. "If by stupid you mean a briefing with the DEA and FBI joint task force that's gonna handle the case now, then, yeah."

Right. He had thought of that. Feeling slightly embarrassed for the comment, Danny absently scratched his left eyebrow and shot Steve an apologetic look. "You want me to come with?"

"I got it."

"It's not a problem."

"I said I got it." Steve said harshly, his features hardening in annoyance.

"Easy tiger." Danny rose up both hands in front of himself. "I'm just . . . making sure."

"Right," Steve acknowledged, casting his eyes down to his hands in his lap. It was as close to an apology as Danny was gonna get from him.

Danny didn't want an apology though. After the days Steve's had, he was surprised that his partner had not yet punched a hole in the wall. He just wanted to make sure he got the rest he obviously needed and unwound all the pent up stress and pressure in a healthy fashion. And, as far as Danny knew, there was no better way to do just that than by watching his hometown hockey team wipe the ice with some other team and scream bloody murder at the ref for being a blind idiot. "I could grab a six-pack and come over to your place later? The Devils are playing the Hurricanes tonight. Maybe we'll catch the third period."

"Not tonight, Danny. I'm pretty beat."

He was a bit surprised by the admission, but decided not to make a comment about Super SEAL Steve McGarrett admitting to weakness and how the world must be ending. "I know the feeling," he said instead, sucking in a deep breath. Truth was, they'd probably both be out cold on Steve's couch before the players were even back on the ice.

"Go home, Danny," Steve said, looking more serious all of a sudden. "Call Gabby or– Or Rachel. Maybe she'll let you take Grace to dinner or something."

"Yeah, maybe," Danny said with a sigh and got up from his chair. "Hey, just for the record, none of this is – in any warped, twisted way, that I'm sure your messed up brain will come up with – your fault."

Steve didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The way the corner of his mouth twitched told Danny all he needed to know. Stupid self-deprecating moron.

"Hey, it's not, okay," Danny said firmly. "It's just . . . fucking politics, man."

Steve shook his head ever so slightly. He let his eyes drop to his lap again and then swallowed hard. "I told Denning we could handle it, convinced him to give the case to us instead of the feds. I promised him that we'd get it wrapped up fast."

Danny felt his brain go blank for a second.

"You cocky _fucking_ son of a bitch, why the hell would you do that?"

"I thought–"

"What, crime stopper? What?" Danny yelled. He couldn't believe this.

"Why are you getting so worked up about this?"

"Because–" he started but didn't know how to explain this – and he only had to explain because he had been keeping his mouth shut all day. He should have known better. Nothing good ever came from keeping your mouth shut. He should have told Steve right away that he _hated_ the way Denning was putting pressure on him, because then Steve could have told him, from the start, that . . . what, he enjoyed the pressure so much that he was piling it onto himself with a fucking backhoe?

Danny just didn't get it. The case had been a dead end from the start . . . why would Steve set himself up for failure like that? What was he trying to prove or accomplish?

But then again . . . Danny didn't get a lot of things about Steven J. McGarrett. Not anymore, anyway. Steve had changed ever since Joe White had come to Hawaii and this whole mess with Shelburne had started – then North Korea had happened and things had only gotten worse.

Big fucking surprise.

It had been the Vonakov case that had finally made Danny realize that something wasn't right. Steve had always been intense, crazy even. Always giving a hundred percent for the job, and then some. But he had always been aware of his own limitations, had always known just how far he could push himself without risking too much. But watching him jump off that building, watching him run in front of that car . . . lying on the ground, unconscious, blood pooling under his head. That hadn't looked like someone who knew how far he could go anymore.

And still, Danny had been telling himself that it had just been an accident. A random coincidence. That car – it must have come out of nowhere, maybe the driver had been speeding. Getting hit by that car had been beyond Steve's control – there had been no way to avoid it. An accident.

Right?

And on the roof the night before, when Steve had gone after Dennis Mack – he had only tried to save the guy's life. He had simply been trying to hold on to him, stop him from falling. Maybe he had known the small balcony was right beneath them and would break their fall.

Maybe.

But how could he have known? And if he had known, then why had he taken the risk in the first place?

There were too many questions. Questions that Danny had tried hard not to think about too much, afraid that he wouldn't like the answers.

Instead, he had been trying to convince himself that the pressure coming from Denning was a huge part of the problem, of what was . . . wrong. Denning had been the one pushing for quick results on the Vonakov case, but demanding they handled the investigation with the 'utmost' care and discretion at the same time.

Well, there was just no discrete way to arrest a Russian diplomat for raping one woman and murdering another.

Politics.

It was so easy to blame everything on politics – people like Denning and Shepkin who, at times, seemed more interested in trying not to step on each other's toes than in giving justice to a woman who had been through hell – and had then lost her sister.

But now, Danny suddenly found himself forced to see things differently – to face all those uncomfortable questions. Maybe Denning wasn't really the problem, wasn't really the reason why Steve had started taking all these unnecessary risks.

Maybe Steve was.

"Because? That's it? Can you, I don't know, _try_ to do better than that? Elaborate, or something?" Steve stared at him, looking confused and lost.

But no, Danny couldn't do better than that. Not today, anyway. He needed to think first, ask himself all those uncomfortable questions and try to find some answers. "You know what, forget about it. It's fine. Sorry." He shrugged and turned around, walking away and hating himself for it.

"What, you're just gonna leave now?" Steve all but yelled from behind him.

Danny stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder. "Yeah," he said tiredly. "Yeah, I'm just gonna leave and let you drown in your self-inflicted self-pity . . . or whatever."

"Danno–"

"Don't 'Danno' me right now," he ground out, hitting the door-frame with his flat hand. He shouldn't be this pissed at Steve. This wasn't really his fault. How could it be? It was everybody's fault but his. The loss of his parents, all the secrets and lies, Wo Fat, Joe White, Shelburne. All of those things must have seriously messed him up somewhere along the way.

What if – maybe – in that bunker in North Korea, Wo Fat had knocked something loose inside of Steve. Something that couldn't be put back in its place. Something that someday would make Steve do something really stupid. Something that didn't just end with a chipped tooth and a few cracked ribs or a verbal beating from the boss.

It was a scary thought. But what terrified Danny the most was that this change, this shift from intense and crazy to something else, something dark and dangerous, might have happened without him even noticing.

Some friend he was.

Sighing, Danny drew in a deep breath and swallowed hard against the rising lump in his throat. "Get that ear checked out before you go deaf," he said, his voice sounding soft and unsteady, but he didn't care if Steve noticed.

Then he turned around again and left, feeling like a coward. But he just didn't know what to do.

_- to be continued -_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Again, a huge Thank You to everyone who read the last chapter and especially to those who left a review! I have to admit I was a bit nervous about the last chapter, so reading your positive feedback was very reassuring and encouraging. Thank you!**  
**

This chapter is, for a change, from Steve's POV. I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"_Now the New Jersey Devils really have to play hard and they might have to open things up."_

_"Yeah, they gotta score and they might be vulnerable because of that."_

Steve heard the commentators' voices but the words and sentences did not register in his brain. They were just sounds, filling the dead silence of the night. He didn't care about what was being said or about the outcome of the game.

He was just waiting to finally fall asleep, knowing that he wouldn't – not because of the noise, but in spite of it. Not too long ago, he had preferred the quiet. On a good night he still did; nothing but the sounds of the ocean lulling him to sleep. But good nights were few and far between these days. Most nights he just couldn't bear the silence and needed the TV to drown out everything else, distract him from the chaos in his mind. On some nights, even the TV wasn't enough.

Tonight was one of those nights.

When Steve had come home hours ago, it had already been dark outside but he hadn't bothered to switch on any lights. He had just set the six-pack of cheap beer down on the coffee table and let himself drop down heavily onto the couch. Then he had reached for the remote, but even before switching on the TV, he had opened a beer and taken a long swig from the bottle, hoping the alcohol would hit his system fast.

It was anywhere between midnight and dawn now, and he still hadn't moved, aside from a short trip to the bathroom. Hours had passed and he still just sat there, staring blankly at the TV without really seeing anything. He was barely aware that the Devils were in the third period, down by two goals – or that he was watching a rerun of the game that had actually ended a long, long time ago; the game that he had already watched earlier that night. But he couldn't even remember the final score.

Five empty beer bottles sat in a neat row, shoulder to shoulder, on the coffee table in front of him. The sixth still lay in his slack hand in his lap. He looked down at it and frowned when he noticed that his thumb had peeled off half the label. Then he lifted the bottle up to his mouth, downed the last warm, stale gulp and set the bottle down next to the others. With a sigh, he let himself slump back against the cushions, feeling far too sober for someone who's had nothing but half a gallon of beer for dinner. Come to think of it, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd really eaten anything. He kind of kept forgetting lately.

There were more important things on his mind these days.

His eyes slowly wandered from the row of beer bottles in front of him up to the sideboard next to the TV. Hidden behind the cone of harsh, blue-tinged light coming from the screen sat a half-empty bottle of scotch. He just stared at it for a while, his entire body feeling too heavy and too tired to just get up and grab it. Maybe if he stared at it long enough he'd just fall asleep.

But he didn't. Even though he could only barely keep his eyes open. Just a glass, maybe two, and falling asleep would be easier. Not thinking would be easier, too. About Shelburne and about why Joe kept lying to him. About what Danny had said to him and why he had been so angry . . . why he had sounded so scared.

So, eventually, Steve dragged himself up from the couch, shuffled slowly across the room and grabbed the bottle from the shelf before he made his way back.

Too tired to walk all the way to the kitchen to get a glass, he drank straight from the bottle. One, two, three long swigs, and he didn't even feel the burn at the back of his throat. He screwed the lid shut but didn't put the bottle next to the others on the coffee table. Instead, he held onto it, let his head drop back against the backrest and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

He didn't do this a lot – drinking alone in the dark. Maybe a beer or two occasionally, but not the hard stuff. Sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat from some nightmare, he'd have a glass or two. It made falling back asleep easier.

The nightmares weren't the problem though. Not really. He rarely remembered any of them. And when he did, it was just loose images, sounds, but nothing tangible. The nightmares were just reminders – reminders of something far worse. Memories.

The memories were different. They were real. And they weren't just in his head. He couldn't just still see the images or hear the sounds. Jenna's empty, dead eyes, or the gunshot that had killed his father.

He could still feel them, too. On his skin and all the way deep, deep down inside his bones. The heavy pounding of his own heart inside his chest, Joe's hands on his shoulders, Hesse's hot breath against his ear, his mother's embrace, Wo Fat's fists.

No amount of alcohol could chase those memories away, or make them disappear. It just made living with them a little easier, falling asleep, getting away from it all for a few hours that would feel like mere seconds and were filled with more bad dreams – more memories.

It was better than nothing.

…

Steve opened his eyes, not aware that he had closed them at all, and blinked against the harsh brightness of the morning sun flooding the room. He must have fallen asleep eventually, but for how long, he couldn't tell. It had to be early still, judging by the warm, golden hue of the light shining through the windows. But the dull throbbing in his head told him that he must have slept at least a few hours, which was good. It wasn't enough to make him feel well rested, but he hadn't felt like that for a while now.

The scotch bottle sill lay in his outstretched hand on the couch next to him. He set it on the table and pulled himself to his feet. His neck was stiff and sore from sleeping sitting up and his spine popped softly as he stood up straight and stretched. The left ear still didn't feel right.

The TV was still on. Basketball. Steve reached down for the remote and felt every single one of the tense, cramping muscles in his shoulders. Hoping that a hot shower would help ease them up a little, he switched off the TV and headed upstairs for the bathroom.

…

An hour later, he was in his car and on his way to the Palace. It was a little after eight and the streets were slammed with rush-hour traffic. Steve tapped his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. He was itching to get to the office and make up for the time he had lost last night, when he had been too tired to do what he did most nights. Tracking Shelburne and Joe, not sure if he really wanted to find either one. He kept telling himself that he could handle the truth. It couldn't be much worse than the lies and the secrets. And he was handling those just fine.

Right?

The screeching of tires and a cacophony of blaring car horns made Steve jump. Blinking, he noticed the red brake lights of the car in front of him just in time to hit his own brakes hard. The Silverado jerked to a halt, barley avoiding a collision. Looking around, Steve realized that the car in front of him had run a stop sign – and so had he. Because he hadn't been paying attention to the snail-paced traffic. He'd been following the other cars blindly, had let the tardy flow just pull him along, too caught up in his thoughts to really care. Muttering a curse, he balled his hand to a fist and hit the steering wheel hard, angry with himself and his lack of focus. He drove the exact same route to the Palace every morning, knew where all the stop signs were. This shouldn't have happened.

…

He walked into HQ what felt like hours later. It had only been twelve minutes though, at least according to his watch. Surprised, Steve noticed that Chin was already in. He stood over the smart table at the far end of the main room, light fingers dancing over the screen, his gaze fixed on the display in determined concentration. He only seemed to notice Steve coming in when he was already half way across the room.

"Hey," Chin said, looking up from whatever he was working on.

Steve greeted him with a nod and a well-practiced relaxed and easy smile. "I thought I told you guys not to come in this morning."

"About that," Chin said, smiling sheepishly. "Today is the twelfth, so I was actually hoping to switch the morning for the afternoon." He paused, clearly waiting for Steve to catch up on what he was talking about. But Steve came up blank, the date didn't mean anything to him.

"It's Malia's and my three months anniversary," Chin supplied eventually, smiling softly. There was no judgment in his eyes or in the tone of his voice, just amusement. Yet, Steve felt a sharp sting of guilt hitting him somewhere inside his chest for forgetting the significance of the date. He had been the best man at their wedding, if anyone should remember, it was him.

"I'm– I'm sorry, man, I completely forgot–"

"It's fine," Chin cut in. "With the case and everything . . . I probably would have forgotten myself if Malia hadn't been dropping subtle hints all week."

The lie didn't help much to put his bad conscience to a rest, but did help Steve to force an appreciative smile. "So what do you got planned for tonight?"

"Nothing big. Just a home-cooked dinner." Chin smiled again.

He looked so happy it hurt.

"Malia is a lucky woman."

"Nah, I'm the lucky one," Chin said, casting his eyes down, still smiling.

"So," Steve said and awkwardly cleared his throat before he could spend too much time thinking about what it must feel like to be Chin, to have what he has. "What are you working on?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the smart table between them.

"It's a copy of the drive you fished out the harbor yesterday."

"We're off the case," Steve stated flatly.

"I know." Chin looked up at him again, a slight frown creasing his eyebrows that made Steve wonder if the tone of his voice had been too harsh. "But I guess Charlie didn't get the memo. The file was in my mailbox this morning. And, to be perfectly honest, 1.3 gigabytes of encrypted data sounded a lot more intriguing than doing paperwork. Don't worry, I already emailed Fong that we're off the case and forwarded the file to the feds."

"Good." Steve tilted his head to the side and let his eyes wander over what was displayed on the screen. "You making any headway with the decryption?"

Chin shook his head and sighed. "Not really. The FBI cyber tech guys are probably way ahead me."

Steve just nodded. "Hey, why don't you just take the whole day off?" he suggested after a moment.

"Thanks, but Malia's working until five anyway, so . . ." Chin left the sentence hanging and shrugged.

"Alright. I'll be in my office." Steve jerked a thumb in the direction. "Let me know if you make any progress."

"You got it."

…

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked a couple of times before he took a glance at his watch. Only a little over an hour had passed since he had arrived at HQ, but it felt like he had been at this for at least half a day. The aspirin he had taken that morning had done little for the persistent throbbing ache in his head. That, combined with the way his left ear had started to hum distractingly, made concentrating on anything just that much harder.

He was getting nowhere today, hitting dead end after dead end. All he still knew – thought he knew, anyway – was that both, Shelburne and Joe had to be somewhere in Japan.

A whole country to search with nothing else to go on. The location indicated on his father's map was a hint in the right direction, maybe, but nothing more. Shelburne had long been moved from there. Joe would have made sure of that.

Joe. Him being involved in all this made everything just that much more difficult. Not just because Steve felt betrayed by the man – the man he had trusted like a father for all those years. No, Steve tried not to think about that part too much. Thinking about it, the way it hurt . . . it was too distracting.

What was more important was that with Joe involved, Steve couldn't rely on his training for this. The man he was looking for had been the one to train him, knew exactly where he'd come looking first, what resources he'd use, which contacts he would trust.

The whole effort seemed so devastatingly futile sometimes that it made Steve just wanted to give up, let the lies and the secrets be lies and secrets, and simply just be at peace with it all.

But what he wanted and what he needed were two entirely different things. He needed to dig deeper, uncovered every last one of the ugly truths the people in his life seemed so desperate to keep hidden. He needed answers, the truth, find the missing pieces of the puzzle, of his life, of himself. He couldn't just move on from this, leave the past behind, be happy like Chin. Not without knowing first who Steve McGarrett really was.

But in order to do that, he needed to focus, concentrate, find the piece of information that might point him in the right direction. Something. He closed the laptop in front of him and opened the top drawer of his desk, looking for the small bottle of aspirin that should still be in there somewhere.

The noise from his phone vibrating on the hard wooden surface of his desk made Steve jump. He slammed the drawer shut and shot a glance at the display. The caller ID read 'Sergeant Duke Lukela'. Steve slid an index finger across the display to answer the call and then hit the speaker button.

"Hey Duke, what's up?"

"_Aloha Steve. I'm calling about the kid you picked up at the harbor yesterday . . . His name is Travis Dyer, right?"_

"Yeah, Duke, but listen, Five-0 is off the case. The feds are handling the investigation now."

"_Oh, I hadn't heard. So Dyer's in DEA's custody now? The transfer is not in the files."_

Steve frowned. "Is he?"

"_I'm asking you, Steve. His father was just down at the station to report him missing. I'm just trying to find out where Dyer is."_

"He's–" Steve felt his mouth go dry as the realization hit him like a truck. "I think he's still here, Duke," he said slowly, feeling every heavy beat of his now racing heart pound against his breastbone as he desperately tried to think, to remember what had happened yesterday.

He and Danny had questioned Dyer, then Denning's meltdown in his office, followed by Danny's. Everything after that was a blur. He had barely been able to focus on the briefing with the feds, couldn't even remember the lead agent's name. He had told them about Dyer, must have told them about him. And then he had headed straight home – aside from a short stop at the gas station to pick up the six-pack of beer. The rest of the team– They had all left early, because he had told them to go. He had wanted to take care of everything. Lock the doors, switch off the lights. But then . . . Danny. He just hadn't been able to think straight after that. And so he had just . . . forgotten about Travis Dyer.

How could he just forget?

"_Steve?"_

"I gotta go, Duke. I'll call you back."

"_Steve, what__–__"_

Steve cut him off by hitting the red 'end call' button on the display of his phone, grabbed it from the desk and hurried towards the door of his office.

"Hey, everything okay?" Chin called as Steve brushed by him, heading for the stairs. "Hey Steve?!" he called again when he didn't get an answer. "Steve!"

_- to be continued -_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **It's Sunday, I got bored, so here's the next chapter. Enjoy :)

**Chapter 5**

Steve yanked open the door to the interrogation room and froze. Next to the chair in the dark room lay Travis Dyer, unmoving, staring back at him with empty eyes.

For a moment, there was nothing but the humming in his ear.

The next thing Steve knew was that he was kneeling on the cold, hard floor next to Travis. His fingers feeling for a pulse at his carotid – but there was nothing. Nothing but blood. He hadn't noticed the blood that had come from Travis' nose and ears until now. He leaned in close to the bloody nose to hear if he was still breathing. But there was just silence. And the humming.

Seven, eight, nine. Chest compressions. He was suddenly doing chest compressions, pushing down hard on Travis' ribcage – and loosing count. He kept going. For five, four, three, two, one. Then he moved to the head, tilted it back, pinched the nose closed. He sealed his mouth over Travis', barely noticing that it was covered in blood, too.

One. Two. The chest moved, up and down, up and down. But there was still no reaction. So he started on the compressions again. One, two, three, four–

"Steve, hey Steve!"

There was a hand on his forearm, puling, trying to stop him.

But he couldn't stop. He had to keep trying.

"Steve, stop." It was Chin's voice, softer now, sounding defeated.

He just kept pushing down on Travis' chest – eleven, twelve, thirteen – because it was too soon to give up, to admit defeat. He could still save the kid. Make this right.

"Steve, he's ice cold." Chin's grip on his arm loosened, but his hand lingered. "It's too late, there's nothing we can do anymore."

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two . . . He eventually stared to slow down – twenty-four, twenty-five – stopped counting, and sat back on his heels. His hands fell limply at his sides. He hadn't noticed how cold the body was. That the blood from ears and nose had long dried, that Travis had been dead for hours.

The humming in his ear grew louder all of a sudden. Or maybe it had been this loud for a while and he just hadn't noticed before. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his flat hand against the ear, hoping it would make the humming stop.

"–happened here?"

He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. Chin. He was looking at him with concerned eyes. "What happened here?"

"I . . . I forgot," was all he got out before the noise in his head turned up again, shriller and louder this time. He turned around, away from Chin, grabbed the chair for support and pulled himself up. The noise faded out once he was upright. Steve drew in a deep breath and, for the first time, really felt the bruise Travis had left on his side.

Travis, who was now . . . dead.

Because he had forgotten.

His chest felt tight all of a sudden and he struggled to get in another deep breath. He turned back to the body but when he stopped, the room, Chin, Travis, everything kept moving, spinning. And then the noise was back, no humming, just a high-pitched wailing that pierced through his head like a bolt of lightning. He reached out, blindly, for the chair that should have been to his right but it wasn't. It was there, right in front of him and then it wasn't anymore. Spinning round and round and round with the rest of the world. His hand missed the backrest and he stumbled as the noise in his head grew so loud, so shrill, it dropped off into silence.

"Woah, brah." Chin's hands were suddenly on his arms, steady and strong. "Maybe you should sit down."

Steve swallowed hard against the nausea building at the back of his throat. "No." He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to stop the rolling of the waves that still made him sway in spite of the strong hold Chin had on him. Everything slowed down. "No, we have to get Max down here and HPD– I need to call Duke."

"I'll handle it." Chin was still holding on to his arms. "You should go outside and sit down."

"I–"

"You're shaking."

Steve frowned and looked down at his own hands. Chin was right. He balled his hands to fists, burying his blood-stained fingers in his palms and willed the tremors to stop.

Eventually, they did. Only then he looked back up to meet Chin's eyes. He looked worried and confused.

"Go get cleaned up," Chin said, "I'll make the calls."

With a glance back to Travis' still body, Steve nodded slowly, licking his lips. The sudden coppery taste in his mouth almost made him gag, realizing it was Travis' and not his own blood on his lips.

…

Steve didn't quite recognize the man staring back at him when he finally looked up from the sink and up into the mirror above it. Drops of water were running down hollow cheeks, his skin was pale, almost translucent. His eyes were nothing but dark circles. It was like the secrets and lies had started to chip away at him physically, leaving their marks for the whole world to see.

A knock on the door startled him. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and then shifted his focus away from himself to the reflection of the door behind him as it opened. Chin's head popped into the dim, fluorescent light of the bathroom. "You okay?"

Steve let his gaze drop to his hands. He turned the faucet back on and let the ice-cold water run over his hands again, even though they were long red and raw from too much scrubbing. But he could still feel Travis' blood on them. "I'm good," he stated flatly.

He heard Chin open the door fully as he walk inside a few steps, still mindful to keep his distance. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "HPD is on the way, they'll be here in a few minutes." There was pause. Chin wasn't usually one for nervous pauses. "Duke's gonna want some answers. What should I tell him?"

Steve looked up from his hands and met Chin's eyes in the mirror. He hadn't asked what had happened. He'd asked for a story. Not the truth, just a version of it – if necessary.

"I'll talk to him."

Chin just nodded. After a moment, he took another step towards Steve. "What's going on? I mean . . . what happened here?" That was a little more straightforward.

Steve shut off the faucet and gripped the rim of the sink tightly with both hands. He let his gaze drop, breaking eye contact. "I don't know, Chin," he admitted and sighed heavily. "Danny and I, we questioned him and . . . then Denning took us off the case." He looked back up. "I just forgot he was still down here. I don't know how I could just forget, I just . . ." He left the sentence hanging, not sure how to finish it, and just shrugged.

Chin frowned darkly as he let his gaze drop to the floor. "I got a pretty good idea how," he muttered, almost too softly for Steve to hear. Then he looked back up, surprising Steve with eyes filled with sympathy and understanding, neither of which he felt he deserved.

Because there was no reason, no explanation for how he could just forget.

Aside from the one he kept giving himself when he forgot other things, like eating dinner.

_There were more important things on his mind these days._

Shelburne, Joe, Wo Fat.

He'd always thought he could separate that part of his life from the rest. Not fully, not completely, of course not. Wo Fat ordering Hesse to kill his father had been the reason why he had taken Jameson's offer to lead the task force, why he was back in Hawaii in the first place. But aside from that, he had always thought he was managing. On some days better than on others; especially ever since Joe had been back in his life, the lines had started to become blurry. But he was trying. He always made sure the cases came first, kept the memories locked away as much as he could. He was trying. But maybe that wasn't enough anymore.

"It doesn't explain why he's dead."

Chin's voice startled him, making his head snap up. "What?"

"I said it doesn't explain why Dyer's dead."

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. He was fine when we left . . . I think." He had seemed fine, anyway. Right? Suddenly, Steve wasn't so sure anymore. Had he not been all right? Travis had gotten checked out in the ER, bruised ribs and jaw, nothing life-threatening. If it had been, they wouldn't have let him leave the hospital, even if he had wanted to. He had been in police custody, their responsibility.

But he had been fine.

Right?

"Was the door still locked when you got down here?"

"The door?" Steve frowned, confused. The humming in his ear was back.

"Was there any sign that someone else might have been in there with him?"

"I don't think so."

"It's okay. We'll check the security camera footage." Chin stepped closer to him, tentatively reached out one hand and put it on Steve's shoulder. "We'll figure this out." He felt the hand give a firm squeeze, meant to underline the determination in Chin's voice that hadn't been there in the first place.

Steve just dropped his gaze back down to the white, porcelain sink. "What if he's dead because I forgot him in there?"

…

Not half an hour later, the usually quiet basement of the Palace was buzzing with activity. Max was in the interrogation room, conducting a preliminary examination of the body, CSU was taking prints and looking for other evidence of someone else being in the room with Travis.

Travis' father had been escorted outside by two officers after reacting badly to the news of his son's death. He had screamed, cried and then attacked Steve when he had tried to explain what had happened, even though he couldn't. Chin had caught the man's arm before he could swing his fist. Steve had just stood there, making no move to dodge the punch, because the man just had lost his nineteen-year-old son and it might all be his fault. A punch in the face was the least he deserved. And maybe it'd make them both feel better.

The new internal affairs guy – Captain Jack Kershaw – had shown up a few minutes ago. He was talking to Duke now, but kept glancing over to where Steve and Chin were standing a few feet down the corridor from the door to the interrogation room.

"Him being here," Chin said, nodding his head in Kershaw's direction, "it's just standard procedure. Don't worry about it too much."

"I know." Steve didn't really care about Kershaw being there. Maybe it was selfish, but in that moment, all he cared about was finding out whether or not Travis Dyer had died because he had been too distracted to even remember that he had been down here. If Duke and Chin had let him, Steve would be upstairs right now, checking the security camera footage himself. But the two kept telling him that there was a right way to do this, and deep down he knew they were right. But reason wasn't the only thing keeping him down here. He was afraid of what he might see on those tapes.

What if Travis had suffered? For minutes . . . or hours. What if he had called for help, hoping that someone would find him in time? What if he had been sick, needing his medication and knowing he would die if he didn't get it in time?

"Commander McGarrett." Kershaw was suddenly right in front of him, holding out a hand for Steve to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Despite the circumstances."

"Captain." Steve took the hand, not surprised by the man's firm grip. He was tall and muscular, probably in his mid-forties but still youthfully handsome, even in spite of the graying hair. He smiled openly, but there was something in his eyes that made the friendly attitude seem insincere.

"Commander, I was hoping to ask you a few questions about what happened here." He waved a hand towards to door to the interrogation room. "Sergeant Lukela was so kind to explain the situation, but I will just need a few more details from you, if you don't mind?"

Steve was about to answer when a female voice cut in. "I don't know about Commander McGarrett, but I do mind."

A somewhat familiar looking woman came walking down the corridor towards them. Steve was sure he had seen her before but couldn't quite place her. On her way towards them, she threw a quick glance inside the interrogation room before she crossed the rest of the distance, the clicking of her heels echoing loudly in the unfurnished space.

Kershaw's smile became forced as he turned towards her. "Caroline," he said, licking his lips somewhat nervously.

"Jack." She offered him a quick and clearly faked smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kershaw asked, brushing the sides of his suit jacket back to put his hands on his hips, revealing the badge and gun on his belt.

"Same thing you're doing here, Jack. My job."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Chin asked, taking a step forward.

"Caroline Keahi," she said, smiling tightly but genuinely, first at Chin and then at Steve. "I'm with the Governor's legal department." She shook hands with both of them. "Governor Denning has asked me to represent the State's interests in this matter. Therefore, I would advise you not to answer any more questions at this moment. Not until you and I have had a chance to talk. In private," she added, narrowing her eyes at Kershaw. He just pursed his lips and shook his head.

"I take full responsibility for what happened," Steve said perplexed, not sure what she was implying with the request. He didn't need a lawyer to bend the truth to make it look like he had done nothing wrong. He just wanted to know what happened, and, if necessary, pay the price for what he had done. Even though there was nothing he could do to make this right again.

"That is very honorable of you, Commander, but in your own interest, I advise you not to answer any further questions."

"We don't even know how Travis Dyer died," Chin spoke up, looking angry. "Don't you think it's a little soon to–"

"I was speaking hypothetically, Lieutenant," Keahi interrupted, the tone of her voice remaining polite. "Consider it a precaution if you will. No one is saying that Commander McGarrett is in any way directly responsible for Travis Dyer's death."

"I don't care," Steve said shaking his head while he stared blankly at the floor in front of him. "I don't care if there's an investigation or any of that." He swallowed hard and then looked up at Keahi. "I just wanna know what happened." He turned to face Kershaw. "You have my full cooperation, Captain. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Commander McGarrett, I'm afraid you don't realize what's at stake here. This incident could not just end your career, you could actually–"

"Oh cut the crap, Care," Kershaw groaned, sounding frustrated.

"Jack," she warned in a low voice.

"Admit it, you don't give a shit about him or whether or not he's responsible for the kid's death. All you care about is the money, Care." Kershaw smiled at her knowingly. "Always has been."

"Don't you think you're being a little unprofessional, Jack?" Keahi snapped at him before she turned back to Steve and Chin. "I apologize for him, gentlemen."

"You should apologize for yourself." Kershaw shook his head and then also faced Steve. "You wanna know why she wants you to keep your mouth shut? It's not because she's worried that you might incriminate yourself. She doesn't care about you. Hell, she doesn't even do criminal law. All she cares about is saving the Governor a couple million dollars in compensation, because anything you say might give Dyer's parents a basis for a wrongful death claim against the State." Kershaw glanced over to Keahi again, the corner of his mouth quirking up with a barely detectable, victorious smile. "That's what she meant when she said she was representing the State's interests."

Keahi pursed her lips and shook her head. "You're an idiot, Jack."

Kershaw ignored her and turned back to face Steve. "You said you wanted to know what happened, Commander. So do I."

Steve set his jaw tightly. "What do you need?" He wasn't sure if trusting Kershaw was the right choice. But right now, it felt like he was the only one who seemed to be interested in finding answers. Unlike the Governor or Caroline Keahi who, apparently, were already too busy doing damage control to care about what or who had caused Travis' deaths.

Kershaw nodded appreciatively. He turned to Keahi and cleared his throat provocatively. "Will you excuse us, Care?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him and then looked over to Steve. "You're making a mistake, Commander." With that, she turned around and walked over to the interrogation room.

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Dyer?" Kershaw asked eagerly, suddenly holding a pad and a pencil in his hands, ready to take notes.

"Yesterday afternoon when we questioned him."

"We?" Kershaw looked up at Steve with raised eyebrows. "Who was with you?"

"Danny, uhm, Detective Williams. He's my partner." Steve swallowed, and that did something to his ear. The buzzing sound faded back in, not as loud as before but still sharp and distracting.

"Okay, good," Kershaw mumbled absently as he wrote the information down. "Uhm, Sergeant Lukela told me that Mr. Dyer had to be taken to the ER before he was brought in?"

"He resisted arrest and then attacked me." It was the truth. Yet, Steve felt a sharp sting of guilt in his chest. He was accusing a man who could no longer defend himself.

The Captain just nodded. "Dyer was discharged after being examined in the ER, correct?"

"Yes."

"How did he seem to you during the interrogation?"

"He seemed okay."

"Good." Kershaw smiled tightly and nodded again. "What happened then?"

"We left. Governor Denning decided to hand the case over to the DEA and FBI so I sent the rest of the team home." The buzzing grew louder again and Steve absently touched his ear to make it stop somehow.

"You sent the team home? Just like that?"

"It had been a long weekend," Steve said and cleared his throat, feeling a sharp sting of pain in his ear as he did.

"What about Mr. Dyer? Did you intend to leave him down here?"

"What?" he frowned, the accusation throwing him off balance. "No. I– I don't know why I didn't–" Steve had to stop and swallow. He squeezed his eyes shut again as he vainly tried to ignore the sound in his head rising to a shrill wailing again. "I forgot," he ground out through gritted teeth, his eyes now firmly squeezed shut. "I forgot him in there."

"Hey Steve, you okay?" Chin's concerned voice asked from somewhere far away. A warm, strong hand grabbed his left arm, holding on to it tightly, steadying him.

"I'm good." Steve peeled his eyes open again to assure Chin, but regretted the action immediately when he realized that the world had started spinning again.

"Commander?" Kershaw was on his right side suddenly, his hand touching Steve's elbow, strong and supportive. "Commander, are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should sit down."

"No– No, I'm fine." Steve didn't believe his own slurred words. He really should get that ear checked out.

He felt hot all of a sudden, cold at the same time. His hands were getting sweaty, wet, while his mouth was almost unbearably dry.

"Come on, Steve, sit down," Chin urged him, pushing him firmly back against the cold brick wall. It didn't help to stop the spinning, didn't even slow down the motion of the room and everybody in it. The wailing never stopped, only amped up further, dancing on the edge of silence again.

When the nausea built up again, at the back of his throat and deep inside his stomach, he eventually let himself slide down until he was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him. And still the world kept turning round and round, never slowing, never stopping. It was like he was swimming in an invisible sea with vicious waves rolling and crashing all around him.

"Hey Duke, get Max over here!" Chin yelled on his left. His voice still sounded far away and muffled.

"–open your eyes?"

"–should call for an ambu–"

"–pain?"

The voices blurred together in his head and got drowned out by the constant, shrill wailing in his ear that stubbornly refused to pitch up high enough to finally fade into silence again. He let his head drop back against the wall and it was then when he felt another sharp sting of pain, like someone had stabbed a needle right into his left ear. The wailing stopped abruptly and everything became quiet.

_- to be continued -_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thank you, again, for reading and especially for the reviews! I can't say how much I appreciate your comments! Thank you! . . . And now I just hope that this won't disappoint anyone's expectations.

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**Chapter 6**

"I told you to get that ear checked out."

Steve slowly opened his heavy eyes and blinked against the harsh, fluorescent lights of the ER. "What are you doing here?" he asked tiredly, pushing himself wearily into a more upright position.

"Chin called, filled me in on what happened," Danny answered flatly. He looked around and grabbed a nearby chair, pulled it over towards the bed and sat down, arms resting on his thighs. He sighed and looked up to meet Steve's eyes. "I _did_ tell you to get that ear checked out."

"It's fine," Steve assured him automatically, looking away.

He let his gaze wander around the small, curtained area until he found the clock hanging high on the opposite wall. It was a little after noon. He had lost track of time between the Palace and the hospital, hardly remembered getting here, or what had happened afterwards. The dizziness, nausea, and pain had effortlessly accomplished what he could never quite manage himself, no matter how hard he tried. The spinning of the world and the buzzing in his head had not only drowned out everyone around him, but also everything inside him, in his mind. All the questions and the guilt had been muted and muffled until they had been small and insignificant and quiet.

"Doesn't look fine to me," Danny said, the tone of his voice still uncharacteristically resigned.

Steve absently touched his left ear, fingers brushing over the cotton ball sticking out of it. He only noticed now that he barely heard anything on that side.

"Alright, Commander," a female voice said before the curtain was quickly brushed aside, revealing a woman wearing a white coat. Steve remembered seeing her before. "Your scans are all looking clean." She peeked up from the large images in her hands and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Looks like you got lucky."

Steve just nodded.

"You call that lucky?" Danny asked, jerking his head in Steve's direction.

The doctor smiled politely. "It could have been far worse."

Danny got up from his chair and shook her hand. "Detective Williams, I'm his partner," he introduced himself.

"Doctor Huang."

"So what exactly does lucky mean?"

The doctor quickly looked over to Steve, making sure he was okay with her sharing his medical information with Danny. He gave her a terse nod. Danny would find out anyway, and since he didn't remember much from before, this gave him a chance to catch up, too.

"Well, Commander McGarrett has a small tear in his left eardrum. There was some sand and dirt obstructing the ear canal which, as the scans show, did luckily not move past the damaged eardrum, leaving the middle ear mostly unaffected."

"Mostly?" Danny asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"There's always the risk of bacteria getting into the middle ear and causing an infection, but I'll prescribe an antibiotic to hopefully prevent that."

Danny nodded and glanced over to Steve suspiciously. "That all?"

Doctor Huang sighed and shot a pointed look at Steve. "Well, Commander McGarrett's blood pressure was a little low when he was brought in. We did a complete work-up. His blood sugar was also low and he's a tad bit anemic. I'd suggest an iron supplement to help with that. Other than that, there was nothing outside the normal parameters. He was also complaining of headache, nausea and dizziness, which, of course, can all be attributed to the injury to the eardrum. However, symptoms that severe are rare." She turned away from Danny and faced Steve with a soft smile. "You should make sure to get some rest, Commander. Eat a good meal and try to avoid stress as much as possible."

Steve swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll try," he promised.

Next to him, Danny huffed out a sarcastic snort.

"Anyway," Doctor Huang said, frowning at the small exchange between them, "I'll get your paperwork and your prescription ready and then you're free to leave. Unless you have any more questions?" She looked expectantly from Steve to Danny.

"Thank you, Doctor," Steve said and forced a smile, eager to get out of the ER. Now that the silence was gone and the questions and the guilt were back, he couldn't bear to just sit around any longer and do nothing.

"Pleasure meeting you," Danny said, reaching out to shake the doctor's hand again.

She smiled at them both before she disappeared behind the curtain.

"You always get the pretty ones."

Steve ignored Danny's comment as he pushed himself further upright and swung his legs off the bed, half expecting the dizziness to return, but it didn't. Now all he needed were his shoes.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

Steve glared up at Danny, who had moved a step closer to the bed but was still keeping an unusual distance. "She said I could leave."

"When the nurse brings you your walking papers," Danny argued. "And judging by the classroom full of distinctly green looking first-graders out there, I think that might take another hour or seven."

"I'm fine, Danny."

"Humor me," Danny bit back harshly. Then he sighed and dropped back down onto his chair. "We gotta talk anyway."

"About what?"

Danny shrugged, pursing his lips. "I don't know, man. Maybe the herd of elephants in the room?"

Steve could feel Danny's eyes on him as he kept up the pretense of looking for his shoes on the ground. "Now's not the time," he said flatly, knowing there was never going to be a time when he'd want to talk about . . . the elephants.

"Now's a great time," Danny disagreed stubbornly and Steve knew he was not gonna let this go. "Your shoes are on the other side, by the way."

Steve stopped looking around and glanced up, careful not to meet Danny's eyes. "You hear anything from Max yet . . . about Dyer?" he tried to redirect to simple facts. He could do facts.

"I shouldn't have left like that yesterday."

The softly spoken admission took Steve by surprise. He dropped his gaze back down to stare blankly at the gray linoleum floor. "It's fine, you were pissed," he said and shrugged up one shoulder, pretending that Danny's reaction the day before hadn't affected him, didn't have him wondering why his partner had looked at him so helplessly and hurt before he had left. "You had every right to be," Steve added quietly, more to himself.

"I still shouldn't have just left," Danny insisted.

"And why is that?" Steve glared at him and pushed himself off the bed, determined to find his damn boots so he could get out of here and . . . not have this conversation. He didn't need to hear Danny feeling guilty about all this, didn't need his pity, or whatever else that edge in his voice was.

"Because I'm your partner," Danny shot back loudly. "I should have told you why–"

"Yeah, that's right," Steve cut him off, furious now. Not at Danny, but at himself. Because all this was just becoming far too much. It felt like everything was suddenly spiraling out of control and there seemed to be nothing he could do anymore to keep it all together, to stop everything from falling apart. "You're my partner. Not my babysitter!" It wasn't Danny's job to make sure he did his, and Danny shouldn't feel like it was. He shouldn't think that Travis' death was in any way his fault.

He wasn't the one who had forgotten.

"What?" Danny shot up from his chair and stared at him incredulously. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Steve turned away from him and walked around the bed, still looking for his boots. "Look, I'm sorry if you feel guilty about what happened, Danny," he said after a moment and stopped to look him again. "But you know what? You shouldn't. It wasn't your fault. I told you to go home, I– I told you I'd take care of everything. It's not your fault that I for–" He choked on the word like it was stuck in his throat. He paused, bent down to grab his boots and dropped back down to sit on the bed, his back turned to Danny. "It's not your fault that I forgot."

"Steve, that's not what I–"

"He's dead Danny. He's dead because I . . ."

"Don't," Danny cut in harshly, even though Steve wouldn't have been able to finish the sentence anyway, couldn't bring himself to say the word out loud again. "Don't say that. You don't know what happened. What if someone broke in and killed him, huh?"

"The door was locked. There were no signs of a struggle or . . . anything. He just lay there."

"Okay, so he had an aneurysm or something."

"The kid was nineteen, Danny." And even if it had been an aneurysm. If Travis hadn't been locked away in a small, dark room, forgotten, then maybe someone could still have saved his life.

He felt the mattress dip a little as Danny sat down on the other side of the bed with a heavy sigh.

"Travis is dead because I left him in there," Steve insisted, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.

"Steve," Danny started, but then didn't continue, like he was at a loss of words. He was silent for a long minute before he quietly said, "I should have been there."

"It's not your fault Danno. Not your fault," Steve said, his voice nothing but a whisper. _Just mine_.

…

Danny couldn't help but keep looking over to Steve. He sat slumped tiredly in the passenger seat of the Camaro, his empty eyes gazing out of the window. So far, they had spent most of their trip back to the Palace in silence. Danny driving for once, and Steve letting him.

Danny had thought about calling Chin just in order to break the unbearable silence. Even though Chin would call the second he heard anything – Danny had made him promise. But so far he hadn't, which meant that Kershaw's people were either not done scanning the surveillance footage, or he wasn't ready to share what was on the tapes yet. And Max would probably still need hours to complete his autopsy of Travis Dyer's body. The preliminary examination of the body had been inconclusive and Max had refused to even venture a wild guess as to the cause of death, saying that, given the circumstances, he wanted to be absolutely sure and not make any assumptions.

The waiting had begun. And Danny's patience was wearing thin already. He had never been good at patience, but this was unbearable. Waiting to find out what exactly had happened and who was responsible for a nineteen-year-old's death. He shot another glance over to his partner, wondering how he must be feeling. Steve had to be experiencing a whole different level of unbearable right now.

This wasn't what Steve needed. Not now. Not when he was already only barely holding on.

Danny hadn't slept last night, not really anyway. He had been drifting, lying awake for hours, thinking. Trying to remember the last few weeks, everything, every detail of what had happened after North Korea, after they had gotten Steve back from that hell.

At least they all thought that they'd gotten him back. Maybe they had all been pretending. Because it was easier to simply close your eyes than to face the truth – that maybe they had left a part of Steve back in that bunker, or somewhere along the road back. Maybe Joe had taken it with him when he had left. Maybe it had never been there in the first place.

But there was definitely something missing.

And now Danny was done pretending that nothing was wrong.

Steve had made pretending easy, though. He seemed fine most of the time. Too fine, really.

After returning from North Korea, after being tortured and after watching Jenna die, he had just snapped back like a rubber band. He hadn't talked about any of it, said he didn't need to, that he was fine. And just like that, everything had gone back to normal in a flash – Danny remembered having a hard time keeping up.

Because, even today, he still saw Jenna's dead body lying in that bunker sometimes, chained to the wall, abandoned. Her betrayal and her sacrifice still tore him apart inside. And he wasn't even the one whose trust she had betrayed. How could Steve just move on from that? How could the scars Jenna must have caused him, too, have healed faster than the bruises on his body had faded?

And how could Danny have believed Steve when he had said that he was fine?

But what had happened in North Korea was not even really the problem, only a symptom of the underlying disease. The secrets and lies had spread throughout Steve's life like a cancer.

Shelburne.

Joe had dragged Steve to his father's grave to feed him some story about Shelburne being an alias, a code name, _his_ code name, or something; that he had killed Wo Fat's father. And then he had just left, leaving Steve with most of his questions unanswered, telling him that none of it mattered, abandoning him, like so many people had before.

Danny had no idea when exactly, but he knew that at some point Steve had started to question what Joe had told him about the identity of Shelburne. He probably hadn't quite believed the story in the first place. There had been a note of suspicion and mistrust in his voice – next to the tiny hint of pain because he had lost yet another father figure – when Steve had told him about his conversation with Joe.

Danny remembered the day like it was yesterday. It had been the day little Charles had been born. Steve had picked him up from the hospital afterwards and had even bought him dinner. They had been sitting outside, on the deck chairs behind Steve's house, eating, when he had noticed that Steve had been quieter than usually. It had taken some prodding, but eventually he had told him about Joe leaving, and what he had revealed about Shelburne.

In hindsight, Danny thought that maybe he should have prodded more often, should have tried to make Steve talk about the things that were eating at him. Maybe it wasn't too late to start yet.

It hadn't been long after Joe's disappearance that Danny had noticed Steve staying at the office late again, or getting there before anyone else did. On other days, he was late to come in. And he always looked tired and weary, like there was something keeping him up at night. I was just like before, when Steve had started to be suspicious about how much Joe really knew about Shelburne and what he wasn't telling him. When he had started his own investigation. Only this time, it seemed to be worse.

Steve did his best to pretend that everything was fine, though. When the team went out for drinks, he was there. He even made time to go surfing with Danny. But he always kept one eye on the time, never seemed relaxed. It was like a part of him was somewhere else, still searching for Shelburne even when he wasn't. It was almost as if all the normal things were just bullet points on his to-do list that needed to be checked off. Normal people things, because he needed to appear normal.

But he didn't. Everyone could see that. Everyone who wanted to, anyway. Everyone who didn't spend their nights thinking that maybe all this was just temporary, that he would snap out of it eventually, that the secrets would just go away some day, and that everything would be fine. Because Steve was always fine. At least that was what he wanted people to believe. And Danny – he just had. Maybe because it was easier, maybe because that's what he wanted more than anything – for Steve to be fine.

But he wasn't. Not even close.

And what had Danny done about it? He had left. Turned his back on his friend and left, because he hadn't known what to do. And still didn't.

But he could have done more than just leave. He could have stayed, made sure they cut Travis loose and that Steve got his ear checked. He could have done something. Not nothing. Not just head home and spend most of the night thinking when Steve had needed him to just be there for him – to be his back-up.

They were partners. And that meant they were each other's back-up. Always. Not just when they were out in the field, but also when they weren't. _Especially_ when they weren't. Because out there, they were wearing vests and had their guns and they expected to run into trouble. But yesterday, in the safety of their own offices when Steve had needed him to have his back, Danny had just left.

And now a nineteen-year-old kid was dead.

"Are you gonna get that?"

Steve's low voice startled Danny out of his thoughts. He barely managed not to flinch. "What?"

"Your phone."

Danny only noticed now that it was buzzing inside the pocket of his pants. "Oh." He pulled the cell out and, with a quick glance at the caller ID, answered the call – not putting the phone on speaker for once. Because if there was bad news then this wasn't the way he wanted Steve to hear it. "Hey Chin, what's up? Anything new?"

"_No, nothing yet. At least that I know of."_

"We're just on our way back, we'll be at the Palace in five."

"_Okay, good. How's Steve?"_

How was he supposed to answer that question?

"Fine. His ear is gonna be fine," Danny almost stuttered.

"_Good,"_ Chin said, the levity in his voice clearly forced. _"Listen, Danny, I just got a call from Denning's assistant. He wants Steve to come by his office as soon as possible."_

"Does he now?" Danny snapped.

"_Yeah. Hey, if you want me to, I'll just call her back, tell her you guys are still at the hospital or something . . . Maybe we can stall Denning until we actually know what happened. Give Steve a little break."_

With a glance over to his partner, Danny shook his head. "No, no it's fine."

"_You sure?" _The hesitant frown was clearly audible in Chin's voice.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure." With that, Danny ended the call and stepped down on the accelerator.

_- to be continued -_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **This chapter is a bit short (and uneventful), so I'll try to put up the next one tomorrow to make up for that. Thank you for reading and sticking with the story. I hope you're enjoying it! Also, a huge Thank You to those who (continue to) review! I really appreciate the feedback!

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**Chapter 7**

"Hey, wait! Detective Williams, you can't just go in there!"

Danny ignored the Governor's assistant – who had jumped up from her seat and was now dialing the phone to give her boss the heads up – as he walked straight towards the door to Denning's office. He didn't bother to knock before he walked right in.

Denning, who was sitting behind his desk, simply quirked an eyebrow at him. "It's alright, Michelle," he said and released the button on his speaker-phone. He then leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of himself. "Detective," he said flatly and nodded to the armchairs in front of his desk. "Why don't you have a seat?"

"I'd rather stand," Danny bit back curtly.

"Suit yourself." Denning just studied him where he stood for a long moment and then pursed his lips calculatingly. "I was expecting Commander McGarrett."

"He's taking a sick day. I'm sorry, but I'm all you gonna get today." Danny pressed his lips together and balled his hands to fists, shoving them deep into the pockets of his pants to stop them from flailing around. When Denning just acknowledge his statement with a slightest twitch of his mouth, Danny added, "You can tell me whatever it is that you want from him. I'll be sure to pass on the message."

The twitch turned into a small, rueful smile, which had Danny somewhat perplexed. "How is Commander McGarrett doing?" Denning asked, not without a discernible note of concern in his voice.

"He is doing as good as can be expected under the circumstances."

"I take it he's not doing very well, then." The expression on Denning's face darkened ever so slightly and he let his gaze drop to the desk in front of him for a brief moment. "Commander McGarrett doesn't know you're here, does he?" he asked, looking back up and straight at Danny.

He didn't answer, just glared back at Denning, wanting to be furious at the man because he needed someone to direct all that anger and frustration at . . . but Denning seemed determined to not make himself an easy target; not with all the sympathy and understanding that reflected in his whole demeanor.

"I understand that you are here because you think you need to protect Commander McGarrett–"

"You don't understand anything," Danny cut in harshly. There, that was better. He hated people who thought they knew what he was thinking. And right now, Danny didn't even care that Denning's guess was spot on. All he cared about was having a reason to be mad at the man.

"I am not the enemy, Detective," Denning stated flatly, his eyes narrowing.

"Is that right?"

"You clearly came here to say something, Detective," Denning said, sitting up straighter in his chair, his features hardening perceptibly. "Why don't you just go ahead and get it off your chest?"

Danny held the Governor's intense gaze for a long moment, clenching his fists tighter in his pants pockets, steeling his resolve. "What happened with Travis Dyer – it's not just Steve's fault. It's yours as much as it's mine and no matter how this thing is going to turn out, I will make damned sure that he's not gonna be the only one facing the consequences."

Denning merely raised an eyebrow at that. "I, for one, would hold off on assigning blame before we have all the facts," he said, his voice even and calm.

Danny snorted. "I guess that's easy to say for someone who has all his bases covered."

"And just what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Your lawyer, or whatever the hell she is," Danny all but shouted, arms spread wide now. "The one you sent down there the minute you heard about what was going on. The one who is probably right now very busy at work, making sure Dyer's parents won't sue the State for wrongful death. Because, what? You don't want this on your resume for the elections? Or was it simply because you don't have another million in this year's budget to spare, huh?"

"Detective–" Denning tried to cut in. But he had invited Danny to speak his mind and Danny wasn't done, so the excuses or threats or whatever Denning wanted to say would have to wait.

"You are one crude son of a bitch, you know that?" Danny spat, pointing a finger at the man still sitting behind his desk. "His parents just lost their nineteen-year-old son and all you care about is your reputation and money?"

"Detective–"

"But what else is new, right? It's all you've ever cared about. You're so caught up in the polls and your popularity that you don't even realize that there's no better man for the job than Steve. But you do what? You drop him the second one mistake happens? You just turn your back on him and try to get out with minimal damage yourself. You send your own lawyer but you don't even have the decency to provide the head of your task force with one? Don't you think you at least owe him that for all has done for you and for this miserable island? Is this, what, some kind of payback for–"

"That's enough," Denning droned loudly, making Danny almost reflexively clamp his mouth shut. "I think you've made your point," he continued sharply. "As I said before, I am not the enemy. And if you would stop for a second and _think_, Detective, you might just figure that out for yourself."

Danny just snorted. The man had a lot of nerve.

"I'm doing what I can to protect Commander McGarrett," Denning insisted.

"If that's really all–"

"I said you're done, Detective. Now it's my turn to talk."

The menacing edge in Denning's voice made Danny bite down his objections. Instead, he puffed his cheeks and nodded, motioning at Denning with a wave of his hand to continue with what he had to say.

"The only reason I sent Miss Keahi downstairs this morning was to ensure that Commander McGarrett doesn't say anything to Captain Kershaw that he might regret later. Unfortunately, that didn't work out as planned," Denning said and heaved a sigh. He dropped his gaze momentarily to his hands, before he looked back up at Danny with just a hint of regret in his eyes. "I can't get officially involved in the investigation unless it's on behalf of the State. Any direct involvement from this office on behalf of Commander McGarrett is only going to raise suspicion. And that could call the entire investigation and its outcome into question." Denning paused again, giving his words a moment to sink in. "I don't know about you, Detective Williams, but personally, I think Commander McGarrett already has enough on his plate as it is. He doesn't need any additional pressure or attention from a board of inquiry or the press."

"And I guess neither do you," Danny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He understood what Denning was trying to say – that, either way it'd be best for Steve if it didn't look like the Governor pulled any strings in the investigation for him. But still, Danny couldn't help but feel that the man's motives for his actions weren't entirely altruistic in nature. He was a politician after all.

Denning just smiled ruefully. "I would be lying if I said that I am not also personally interested in avoiding this matter garnering any more attention than absolutely necessary."

The admission took Danny by surprise, reminding him of his apparent lapse in judgment and outburst. "Sir, I don't know–"

"Don't apologize, Detective," Denning cut in, shaking his head. "I do appreciate your . . . passion," he added, but looked like he was unhappy with his choice of words. Maybe he was just too much of a gentleman to call it a fit – which Danny himself considered somewhat accurate in hindsight. "And just for the record, Detective. I certainly can be a crude son of a bitch. But trust me, you don't want to be around to see it."

With a tired huff of acknowledgment, Danny stepped around one of the armchairs in front of Denning's desk and let himself drop down onto it. "What's gonna happen now?" he asked, almost certain that he wouldn't like the answer. Because he, for one, couldn't quite picture a way how this entire mess could turn out without at least some collateral damage. "I mean, what if . . ."

"As I said earlier, I'd rather not speculate until we know what exactly happened," Denning said as he once more leaned back in his chair.

"I know, but . . . what's the worst case scenario?" Danny bit down on the insides of his lips, bracing himself for the answer he really, really didn't want to hear.

Denning sighed and then looked Danny square in the eye. "Well, worst case, Commander McGarrett could be charged with negligent manslaughter or homicide–"

"Homicide?" Danny said, more to himself than to Denning. He knew all along that it could come down to this, but hearing Denning say it out loud made the possibility just that much more real.

"Yes," Denning said calmly. "However, the very competent people in my legal department tell me that it's rather unlikely. Commander McGarrett is also protected by immunity and – given the circumstances – I am not inclined to waive it."

Danny bent forward in his chair, resting his arms on his thighs, taking the information in and trying to concentrate on breathing evenly. "What if a judge overturns the immunity?" he asked, glancing up at Denning.

"It's a possibility, but for that to happen he'd have to be charged in the first place and, frankly, the DA is a big fan of your work. Speaking off record, I don't think he'd be inclined to press charges if not absolutely necessary."

Danny nodded, feeling somewhat relieved by the Governor's words. "Okay, that's– that's good."

"It's no guarantee, though," Denning added seriously. "The DA has a duty to the people of this State, too, and he will prosecute if he has to."

"I know," Danny nodded again and dropped his head, running a tired hand over his face. Denning wasn't exactly telling him that everything would be okay, but now there was a silver lining – and Danny felt like he could hold onto that, at least until they had some answers.

"I'm afraid that's not all."

The sudden hard edge in Denning's voice made Danny's head snap up again.

"Regardless of criminal liability, I might be facing some outside pressure to –" he trailed off, searching for the right words, "–reevaluate Commander McGarrett's position with Five-0."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Denning dropped his gaze and then stared out of the window to his right for a moment. "Five-0 is my responsibility, Detective," he said and then looked back to Danny. "It is my job to make sure that you can do yours."

Danny felt his stomach clench at the Governor's words, not liking where he was going with this.

"And, to be honest, right now I am not convinced that Commander McGarrett can lead the task force effectively."

"Sir," Danny said jumping up from his chair, ready to argue on Steve's behalf.

But before he could continue, Denning simply held up a hand to him. "Calm down, Detective, this is just between you and me."

"Sir," Danny said again, with less force this time but still not without vehemence. Just because this was between just them didn't mean that Denning had any more of a point. And besides, it had somehow become a reflex for Danny to defend Steve. Especially the last few weeks had made him a little more protective of his partner than what might be reasonable.

Maybe Denning was right. Maybe relieving Steve of the burden that came with the job was best for him right now. But Danny also knew what the task force meant to his partner. Losing it might just as well be the straw to break the camel's back.

So all Danny could do right now was giving in to his instincts. Defend and protect his partner. It's what he had come here for in the first place. "It was _one_ mistake. And the drug bust– that was just impossible to do within the time–"

"This is not about the case."

"It was _one_ mistake," Danny repeated, aware that the tone of his voice held a desperate edge now.

"It's also not just about what happened with Travis Dyer. Do you remember the Vonakov case?" Denning asked, nodding to a small stack of folders on his desk in front of him.

Of course Danny did remember.

"_Dennis, listen– Listen to me! Hey, hey! No, no! No!"_

"I admit that, at the time, I was a little too preoccupied dealing with the Russians to realize that Commander McGarrett acted alarmingly reckless in the course of the investigation."

"Alarmingly reckless?" Danny said absently, his mind skipping over the term. Steve was the walking, talking, breathing definition of alarmingly reckless. On a good day. That was just how he was. It was a SEAL thing, or a McGarrett thing, or whatever. But Denning was right. The Vonakov case had been different – Steve's voice, skipping in Danny's head like a broken record was proof enough. In hindsight, it felt like some sort of scale had tipped that day. Steve's usually kind of reckless and crazy had become something more, something scary.

"Detective?" Denning's voice startled Danny. "Have you noticed any changes in Commander McGarrett, maybe starting after the incident in North Korea?"

The simple answer was yes. But Denning wasn't exactly the person Danny wanted to share his concerns with. And neither was it his place to discuss the matter with Denning without Steve even being there. So he simply shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

Denning's calculating eyes lingered on Danny for a long moment, making him feel like he was being read like an open book, written in block letters. Danny tried hard not to cringe under the intense gaze. After a long moment, Denning's mouth twitched to a brief smile. "I understand, Detective," he said, almost softly. "I'm putting you in charge of Five-0–"

Danny opened his mouth to protest, but once more Denning silenced him by holding up a hand. "Just until this matter is resolved. Suspending Commander McGarrett from his duties with the task force is standard procedure."

Heaving a sigh, Danny nodded. "And after the investigation?" Another question he really didn't want to hear the answer to.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," Denning said and got up from his chair, indicating to Danny that the conversation was over. This wasn't his place either, what happened afterward was between Denning and Steve.

Nodding again, Danny stood, too.

"Next time I ask for Commander McGarrett, I am going to expect Commander McGarrett."

Danny held Denning's gaze for a moment and then shrugged up one shoulder. "I'll see what I can do."

_- to be continued -_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Additional spoiler warning for 2.01-2.05 for this chapter . . . but not really. Thank you for being wonderful and amazing to those who have read and reviewed the last part. I hope you will enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Danny ran into Steve in the corridor just outside their offices. His partner burst through the glass double doors like a hurricane, looking pissed. As soon as Steve spotted him, he stopped dead in his tracks and glared at Danny, eyes blazing. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled, clearly not bothering if any of the people around the halls heard him. "Did you just talk to Denning?"

Holding up both hands in front of himself in what was meant to be a placating gesture, Danny crossed the distance between them. "Steve, calm down, okay, I just–"

"What, Danny? You just what?" Steve yelled.

"Can we do this inside?" Danny said in a low voice, jerking his head to the glass doors behind Steve. Some people in the corridors had stopped and were staring at them openly.

"I told you I don't need a babysitter," Steve growled and then looked around nervously.

Danny nodded and firmly planted a hand against Steve's chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his partner's heart. "Let's go back inside," he insisted, pushing Steve back a little.

Breathing heavily, eyes darting between the staring people and Danny, Steve eventually nodded. Together they went into the main room of HQ. As soon as they were through the doors, Steve walked away a few steps, deliberately putting some distance between them. Shaking his head, he turned around to face Danny, eyes still wild with anger and hurt, reminding Danny of a wounded, trapped animal. "You talked with Denning behind my back?"

The words stung like knife. Of course, Steve felt betrayed – why hadn't the thought crossed Danny's mind? He had been so caught up in his own anger and frustration about the whole situation – and with the opportunity to give Denning a piece of his mind, he hadn't wasted a second to think about how this must look from Steve's perspective. "I didn't mean to go behind your back," Danny said somewhat helplessly.

"But you did."

"Steve, I was just trying to–"

"I don't care, Danny. I just–" He broke off, setting his jaw tightly, swallowing. "What did he say?"

Danny resisted the urge to try and explain himself, explain away the hurt look in Steve's eyes. But it wasn't what Steve wanted to hear – and Danny didn't really have and explanation for why he had dropped Steve off at HQ without telling him that Denning wanted to see him and then excused himself to go and talk to the man himself. He hadn't just done it to protect Steve, give him a little break. It had mostly been for his own benefit, to satisfy his own urge to do _something_, to stop himself from feeling helpless and useless.

Some friend he was.

So, instead of telling Steve all that, he just heaved a sigh and averted his gaze to the floor. "You're suspended until the investigation is over."

Nodding, Steve just took the information in silently. "He put you in charge?"

"Just until this is over," Danny repeated firmly.

"Anything else?" Steve asked curtly, his voice hoarse.

Danny shook his head. "Denning wants answers first."

Steve simply nodded again. "My gun and badge are in the top drawer of my desk," he said, glancing over his shoulder to his office. "I'm heading out."

Still perplexed by the previous statement, Danny only realized that Steve was leaving HQ when he was half-way to the doors. "What– Wait!" he called after him. Catching up with a few quick steps, Danny grabbed Steve's arm.

As if his hand was hot as fire, Steve jerked his arm out of Danny's grasp. "Just– let me go," he said sharply.

"Steve–"

"Please," he added, speaking so softly, it was barely a whisper.

Knowing that there was nothing he could do to keep Steve from leaving, running away, Danny nodded. "I'll call you when there's any news?" he asked, hoping he could convince his partner to at least keep a line of communication open between them.

"Yeah, sure," Steve said absently. He hesitated for a moment, but then shook his head and walked out.

Danny stared after him, not sure what to do next. There wasn't much to do after all.

Expect for waiting. And hoping. And praying.

"Where's he going?"

Startled by the familiar voice coming from behind his back, Danny whirled around. Chin, standing in the open door to his office, was looking at him questioningly. "Don't know," Danny answered with a shrug.

"It's probably for the best if he's not around," Chin said grimly. "In case Kershaw comes back asking more questions. Steve doesn't need that right now."

"No, he doesn't."

Danny was about to go to his own office when Chin spoke again. "I told him that Denning wanted to see him. I didn't know that you–"

"It's alright," Danny said quickly, holding in a sigh. "You didn't know. And besides, I shouldn't have talked to Denning alone, not without telling Steve. I went behind–"

"What the hell?" Kono yelled, eyes blazing with wild anger as she burst through the glass doors with such force, Danny was afraid they'd shatter to a million pieces. "No, seriously, what the hell!"

"Kono," Chin started calmly, walking towards his cousin with cautiously raised hands.

"What Chin?" she shot back, glaring at him. "You wanna explain to me why I'm the last person on the entire island to find out about what happened? Why didn't you call me?"

"I tried."

"Once."

"Yeah, and you didn't pick up so I figured you were out catching some waves and would call me back as soon as you got out of the water. Which you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

Chin pulled his cell from his pants pocket and checked the display. "Once," he said, with raised eyebrows. "Sorry, it's been kind of busy around here."

Kono simply rolled her eyes, clearly still pissed.

"How did you hear about it?" Danny was suddenly afraid that the story had already somehow leaked to the press.

"The new IA guy, Kershaw, he was waiting at my place when I got back from the beach," Kono said with a dark frown.

"What?" Danny stared at her incredulously. "What the hell did he want from you?"

Kono gave half a shrug. "He asked all kinds of questions about Steve. At first it was all about how he's been acting lately, if it was like him to forget things, stuff like that." She sighed and raked a hand through her still damp and messy hair. "He got personal, man. Wanted to know if I ever saw him drink too much. If he ever lost his temper on the job . . ." she trailed off, shaking her head.

Chin huffed out a sarcastic snort. "He asked me the same stuff after they took Steve to the hospital."

"What did you tell him?" Danny asked, looking back and forth between the cousins.

"I told him to fuck off," Kono all but yelled.

Danny gulped. "You didn't."

"No, but I told him Fryer had more class than he does."

Chin quirked an eyebrow at that, a barely detectable smile crossing his lips.

"Guys, what are we gonna do now?" Kono asked, bouncing on her heels, clearly itching to do something to help Steve. Danny knew the feeling.

"Not much we can do," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"What? You just wanna sit around and wait for Max to finish his autopsy? One of us should go over there and see what he's got so far."

"We can't get involved in the investigation," Danny warned her.

Kono just growled frustrated. "Well, there's gotta be something we can do," she decided and started looking around the room. "Where's Steve?"

Danny exchanged a quick look with Chin. "He left."

Kono just looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. But there was nothing more to say. He didn't know where Steve was or what he was doing. All he knew was that his partner needed some time alone – and hopefully wouldn't do anything stupid.

"He left? That's it?" Kono glared at him. "Where did he go?"

Danny heaved a sigh and simply shook his head.

"Wow, uhm, okay," Kono sputtered with a frustrated huff. "Since you guys don't really seem the least bit bothered by what's going on, excuse me while I go find him." With that, she turned around and stormed off towards the doors.

"Kono, stay here!" Danny yelled after her, surprised by the authority in his own voice.

"Really, Danny?" Kono stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around. "Who died and put you in charge?" she spat, fuming with anger.

Danny barely managed not to cringe at the unfortunate choice of words. However, the look on his face still must have been one of utter guilt, because in the next moment, the dark frown disappeared from Kono's face and she just stared at him as if someone had just punched her in the gut. "No," she whispered to herself. Shaking her head slowly, she turned back around and pushed through the doors.

"Kono!" Danny yelled after her again. He wanted to hurry after her, but a soft hand on his arm stopped him.

"Let her go, brah."

…

Kono breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Steve's Silverado parked underneath a row of large trees lining the road along the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. She slowed down and pulled up right behind the truck, eyes looking over the wide-open graveyard. She easily spotted Steve, who was just standing there in the middle of the bright green, gazing down at the headstone in front of him. It had to be his father's grave. She wasn't sure, she'd never been here before.

Blowing out a deep breath, she steeled her resolve, pulled the key out of the ignition and grabbed the small box from the passenger seat. Slowly, she made her way across the grass, trying to make some noise in the process. She didn't want to startle Steve. He didn't move, not even when she came to stand right next to him. He just stood there, staring at the headstone.

_John McGarrett __–__ Lt. Navy __–__ Vietnam __–__ Det. HPD __–__ Beloved Husband and Father __–__ March 15, 1942 – September 20, 2010_

They stood silently next to each other for a long while. It surprised Kono a little that Steve accepted her presence here, that didn't tell her to leave him alone. She wasn't sure what she had expected to find – Steve was one of the strongest, most put-together people she had ever known. She had had no idea how he'd act and react in a situation like this.

"How'd you know I was here?"

His voice, hoarse and quiet, startled her. Swallowing hard, she looked up to him and attempted a smile. "I didn't," she admitted, eyes dropping to the ground again when she saw that his were still fixed on the headstone. "I've been looking all over the island before I came here." She suddenly remembered the small box in her hands. Holding it up a little, she opened the lid. "Gave me a chance to pick up these, though."

Steve glanced at the box. "Malasadas from Leonard's?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," Kono said and frowned. "Hope you like the Haupia filling."

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry, Kono."

With a shrug, she dropped down to sit cross-legged on the grass. "Well, I guess it's a good thing then that you don't really have to be hungry to eat these." Setting the box down in front of herself, she glanced up at him and jerked her chin to the spot on the ground next to her. "Come on, sit."

It took a long moment, but eventually, Steve heaved a sigh and sat down next to her. He didn't look at her, just stared into the distance with unfocused eyes. Not sure what to say – or if she should say anything at all – Kono grabbed a pastry from the box and started eating, letting her gaze wander over the cemetery and the landscape beyond. It was beautiful day, with only a few clouds hanging heavily over the mountaintops in the distance. The image reminded her of Steve. It hadn't always been this way, but in recent weeks, months maybe, there was this darkness looming over him, like an invisible burden he carried around with him.

When she finished her second Malasada, she grabbed the box and shoved it under Steve's nose. "Come on, don't make me eat all these alone. Because . . . I will." These things were her comfort food. And she felt like she needed them right now, and more than just the one box. But Steve looked like he needed them more.

He looked at her, holding her gaze for a long moment and then nodded, smiling slightly. He grabbed a pastry from the carton and took a huge bite, savoring the taste. Kono couldn't help a bright smile from spreading across her face. Watching him eat somehow provided a different, much more satisfying kind of comfort.

"What?" he asked when he noticed that she was trying to stifle a laugh.

"It's nothing," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, still smiling. "Just . . . remember your birthday cake?"

"How could I forget?"

"Sorry about that," she grinned at him.

"Oh, you will be," he vowed, smiling too now.

"Promises, promises," she teased, bumping her shoulder into his.

They lapsed into silence again, enjoying the peacefulness and the quiet. Kono carefully kept an eye on Steve as he slowly finished off the entire box. It looked like he had been pretty hungry after all.

"I forgot how good these were," he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth after swallowing the last bite.

"You wouldn't believe how many of those I ate when I was suspended," she said, trying to keep the tone of her voice casual. It was somewhat of a cheap shot, but she wanted to make him talk about what was happening, make him open up a little. She didn't expect him to pour his heart out, she just hoped he'd give her a little glimpse of what was going on inside his head, enough to give her an idea of what she could do to help.

The smile on Steve's face turned into a frown. His tongue ran over his lips as he looked out into the distance again. "I'm sorry about how that went down," he said flatly. "The whole thing with Fryer – I should have been there for you."

Kono sighed, wanting to punch herself in the face. This wasn't the reaction she had expected. She came here to help, not to guilt trip him about things that were long in the past – things that were not his fault to begin with.

"I pushed you away, all of you, even Chin," Kono said firmly, looking at him even though Steve was still staring straight ahead, seeing nothing. "I had to."

"I shouldn't have let you," he said, his voice hollow.

"It's not like I gave you much of a choice."

"Kono–"

"No. It was part of my cover. Delano had to believe that I was ready to cut all ties with Five-0," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing you could've done."

"You should never have been in that position in the first place," Steve insisted stubbornly. "Fryer put you out there all alone"

"I could handle it."

Steve didn't say anything, just dropped his eyes to his father's grave again.

Kono gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "And you know why? Because you made me a damn good cop."

Steve just shook his head slowly. "It was still too dangerous. You were on your own. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"I wasn't on my own."

"Fryer wasn't exactly good back-up."

"I'm not talking about Fryer. I knew you guys would be there if I needed you. That's what kept me going, you know. Knowing that I was protecting you and that no matter what, I could always count on you to be there when it was all over." She looked at him, waiting for some kind of reaction, but the pained frown on his face remained firmly in place. "And you can, too," Kono continued softly. "We're here, you know. No matter what's going to happen, you'll always have us. That's never going to change." She gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Ohana."

Steve briefly looked up at her, eyes full of sadness and regret. "Yeah. I know," he said, voice just above a whisper. He then put a hand on hers and removed it from his shoulder.

Kono frowned at his reaction. "What?"

He ignored her, just pushed himself up to stand and turned away from her.

"Hey, what?" she called again, jumping up herself. "Steve?"

He ran a hand over his face and spun around to look at her again. "I don't want to drag any of you any further into this mess."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Kono all but yelled, the anger in her voice entirely fueled by worry.

"Everything. It's not fair . . . to anyone." Steve looked at her for a long moment with dark eyes before he turned back around again and started to walk away towards his car.

Kono went to go after him, not willing to just let him cut her – all of them – out. They were family. And whatever he'd meant by 'everything', they were in it together. Fair on them or not, it didn't matter. Because none of this was fair to him either. No matter how stupidly self-deprecating he wanted to be about all the shit people kept piling onto him, none of it was his fault. And no one, not even fucking Steve McGarrett himself could tell her to stay away. She'd beat that into that thick skull of him if necessary.

Catching up to him with a few quick steps, she grabbed his elbow, firmly – because she wasn't gonna let go. "Wait."

He stopped and turned to look at her, eyes pleading. "Kono–"

"No." Shaking her head, she stared him right in the eye. "You're not getting rid of me."

"Kono–"

"I drove two hours to find you."

He raised his eyebrows at that, surprised.

Kono sighed. Fucking idiot. She would have looked for days and it would have been worth every second. But he didn't get that. Still didn't get it. Even after North Korea he didn't understand that – no matter how lost he got – they would always come find him, bring him back home.

And anyone could see that he was more lost right now than he had been in North Korea.

"Yeah. That means you owe me fifty bucks for gas," she said, shrugging up one shoulder. "And since you never have any cash on you, you're just gonna have to come back to HQ with me."

Brows creased in confusion now, he looked down to her hand still firmly curled around his arm. She tightened her grip, making him understand that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Okay," he said with a resigned sigh, not looking back up at her again.

_- to be continued -_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **This is the second to last chapter, so some questions will finally be answered. I hope you're not going to be disappointed. Thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Danny hadn't realized it had been there, but when he saw Steve walk through the glass double doors of HQ, closely followed by Kono, it felt like a rock the size of The Big Island had just been lifted off his chest. He stood up from behind his desk and watched Steve head straight for the door to his own office. Behind him, Kono stopped half way across the main room, put her hands on her hips and puffed her cheeks as she blew out a long breath.

Danny could kiss her.

While he was still debating whether he should go over to Steve and try to talk to him again – maybe apologize for going to Denning without telling him about it – the entrance doors swung open again, and Kershaw came walking in.

"Commander McGarrett," he called across the room, making Steve freeze with his hand on the handle of the door to his office. "Just the man I was looking for."

Danny clench his jaw shut tightly. Kershaw had been here to talk to him a little over an hour ago, asking him the same stupid, intrusive questions he had already asked Kono and Chin. He was coming after Steve and Danny had no idea why. Probably because the man had some inferiority complex and wanted a big bust to prove himself in his new position with IA. Fryer had left some big shoes to fill after all. And how to better make a name for himself than by bringing down the head of the Governor's own task force.

But he had picked the wrong group of people to mess with.

Kono was the first to prove it. When Danny reached the door to his office, she had already planted herself in Kershaw's path. "What do you want from him?" she growled.

Kershaw smiled uneasily. "I just have a few more questions for Commander McGarrett."

"The hell you do," Danny cut in, stepping up next to Kono. "I thought I told you to stay away until you have some facts."

"I don't need you to tell me how to handle my investigation, Detective."

"He was released from the hospital just a few hours ago, he's not–"

"Danny, it's okay," Steve interrupted, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft, resigned.

"I'm glad to see you're doing better, Commander," Kershaw said with a faked polite smile.

Fighting hard to keep his temper in check, Danny ignored the man and instead turned around to face his partner. "Steve, there's gonna be a time to do this, but it is not now."

"I can handle it, Danny."

"Maybe you should listen to your partner, Detective," Kershaw suggested arrogantly. "He's a grown man and I really just have a few questions to clarify some things."

"Like what?" Danny snapped, sternly standing his ground between Kershaw and Steve.

"Like, for example, what happened on the roof of that warehouse?" The tone of Kershaw's voice had suddenly changed. The ever present politeness was still there, but was now joined by an accusatory edge. The man had probably realized that neither Danny nor Kono were going to back down any time soon.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Kershaw ignored Danny's question and looked at Steve instead. "Just how hard did you hit Travis Dyer, Commander?"

"What?" Danny took a step forward, invading Kershaw's personal space.

But he still acted like Danny wasn't even there. "Hard enough to kill him?" Kershaw hissed at Steve, clearly no longer bothering to keep acting nice.

"Back off, man!" Danny yelled.

"Navy SEAL versus a nineteen-year-old kid. Doesn't seem like a fair fight to me."

"That's enough!"

"Did you let the kid get in a couple good hits just so you had an excuse to blow off some steam on him? Do you, what, enjoy it?"

"Stop it!" a female voice called. Danny's head snapped up to look to the doors. With her heels clicking loudly on the polished floor, Caroline Keahi came walking towards them, glaring at Kershaw. "You are out of control."

"What are _you_ doing here?" he growled at her.

"I just received a phone call from Governor Denning," she said and then looked at Steve. "Commander McGarrett, he regrets not being able to tell you this in person, but – as Captain Kershaw here is well aware – Doctor Bergman's report clears you. You are in not responsible for Travis Dyer's death."

"What?" Steve whispered, staring at her incredulously – just like everyone else did. Except for Kershaw.

"Not so fast," he said, holding up a hand to Keahi. "That report only states that the kid was already a walking corpse when he was released from the hospital. But _he_ is the reason why," Kershaw accused, pointing a finger in Steve's direction. "And trust me, Caroline, I'm not–"

"Your assumption is incorrect, Captain."

Again, everyone looked over to the doors. This time, it was Max who came walking towards them.

"Everyone," he said in a way of greeting, nodding to the group.

"What do you mean, his assumption is incorrect?" Danny asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the entire situation and the continuous stream of people joining them. "What's going on, Max?"

"Let me start at the beginning – or rather, at the end," Max said calmly. "The autopsy revealed that Travis Dyer died from a ruptured aorta. He bled out within minutes." He sighed and then looked up to Steve. "There was nothing that could have been done for him."

"But how did that happen?" Kono asked.

"It was your blow to his chest that killed him," Kershaw hissed at Steve before Max could answer.

"Shut up!" Danny yelled.

"Technically, the Captain is correct," Max stated matter of factly.

"Are you saying that–"

"Please, hear me out," Max cut Danny off. "The blunt force trauma to Mr. Dyer's chest caused his aorta to begin dissecting. This means that he started bleeding into the aortic wall. Unfortunately, this was not diagnosed when he was treated at the hospital. According to his chart, he only presented with moderate chest pain, which the attending physician attributed to the bruising of the ribs."

Max paused briefly, looking at everyone as if he was making sure they all understood what he was saying. Danny wasn't quite sure he did, but nodded anyway to encourage him to continue. "As far as I can tell from the surveillance footage, he continued to be asymptomatic until, eventually, the actual rupture occurred. And as far as your accusations are concerned, Captain," Max said, narrowing his eyes at Kershaw in a way that made Danny just a little proud. "While the initial blow to the chest is most likely what caused the aortic dissection, the minimal amount of injury done to Mr. Dyer's ribs and sternum does not suggest that excessive force was used. The blow to the chest only managed to cause the hemorrhage due to a preexisting thinning of Mr. Dyer's inner aortic wall. It was an unfortunate accident."

Kershaw just shook his head. "That's what you're saying."

"Governor Denning already made sure that my findings will be confirmed by an independent medical examiner," Max said, inching up his chin. "However, I can assure you that my report is without bias – in spite of my friendship with Commander McGarrett."

"Thank you for explaining, Dr. Bergman," Caroline Keahi said, smiling at him. She then turned to face Kershaw. "Captain. I think this means you're done here."

"Oh, I'm just getting started," he vowed, fuming with seemingly barely contained anger.

"Jack," Keahi warned sharply.

"He killed the kid," Kershaw insisted, pointing a finger at Steve again.

"It was an accident."

Kershaw just snorted at her and then turned to face Steve. "Why did you start a fight with him, McGarrett? The kid was half your size."

"He was a juicer, Jack," Keahi cut in. "He was hopped out on steroids at the time. If you had bothered to actually read Dr. Bergman's report you'd know that."

"Steroids. Well, that explains a lot," Danny said with a sigh, images of Travis leaping over trash containers and parked cars flashing through his head.

"You don't have a case, Jack," Keahi said, stepping into the man's personal space. "So I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself any further."

"I'm warning you, Care, you don't wanna fuck with me."

"That's right Jack, I don't," she hissed and then quirked up an eyebrow. "And I haven't had that urge for a long time now, so I think it's time you got over that."

Staring at her for a long moment, Kershaw swallowed, hard, and – with one last glare in Steve's direction – he turned away and walked out of the room.

"I apologize for him. Again," Keahi said to the group. "And for myself, I guess."

"That's– Don't worry about it." Danny made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Thank you for getting him to back off."

"My pleasure," she said, not able to keep a smile from spreading across her pretty face. "I'm sure Governor Denning will have the DA talk to him, make sure he lets this thing go for good."

Danny just nodded and shot a glance over to Steve. He just stood there, staring at the floor, looking like he was still trying to wrap his head around everything.

"So it's over?" Kono asked Keahi.

"I think so, yes," she said, smiling openly now. "At least for you guys. Dyer's parents might still sue the State for wrongful death, so . . . I should get back to work."

"Thank you again, Miss Keahi, I–"

"No need, Detective, I'm just doing my job." She turned to follow Kershaw out of HQ but then stopped half way to the door. "Ah, one more thing," she said, looking back over her shoulder. "Commander, the Governor wants to see you first thing tomorrow morning. And Detective Williams?"

"Yes?"

"I'm supposed to tell you to take the morning off."

"Right."

…

A hand touching his shoulder startled Steve.

"Hey, you hear that? It's over."

It was Danny, standing right in front of him, smiling and looking so, so relieved.

Should he feel relieved, too?

"Steve?" Danny asked, a concerned frown creasing his brows now.

It's over.

"He's still dead," Steve heard himself say, his voice sounding flat and hollow to his own ears. "I still left him in there to die. Alone."

"There was nothing you or anyone could have done," Danny said, looking over to Max for confirmation.

"Danny is right," he said, nodding. "Travis Dyer was misdiagnosed at the hospital. In order to save his life they would have needed to operate when he was first admitted. His chances of survival decreased with every minute he continued to bleed into his aortic wall. For what it's worth, by the time you and Danny left the interrogation room, it was already too late."

"See, Steve– I mean, I know, it's terrible that he died, but this was not your fault."

"You don't get it, Danny," Steve all but shouted, clenching his hands to fists.

"No, apparently I don't," Danny shot back, hands spread widely. He held Steve's gaze for a long moment and then it was like all the anger just disappeared. "Why don't you explain it to me?" he asked softly, his eyes pleading.

"I forgot him down there," Steve said hoarsely. It wasn't an explanation, but it was all he could do right now.

"We all make mistakes," Danny insisted. He didn't get it. "You're only human – and you're dealing with a lot. It's understandable that–"

"_I_ don't understand it, Danny." Steve dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to look Danny – or anyone else – in the eye any longer. He swallowed hard in an effort to steady his shaky voice. "I just don't."

Because the job, Five-0, that had always been the one part of his life he felt like he was actually in control of – where he could see something good coming out of it. Everything else was chaos that left nothing in its wake but pain and suffering. And what happened with Travis Dyer – forgetting – it suddenly made him feel like that chaos was spreading, growing, threatening to bleed into that one thing in his life that actually made sense. And he didn't understand how that could be happening. How he could just let it happen.

Feeling everyone staring at him, their concern and worry, Steve just needed to get away from them. He couldn't explain this, didn't know what to do, almost couldn't breathe. He turned around, muttered a barely audible 'excuse me' and headed straight for his office, knowing Kono and Danny wouldn't be far behind if he left HQ again.

He shut the door and went over to the chair behind his desk, letting himself drop down into it heavily. When he looked up, he found Danny standing in the door.

"Danny, please–"

"No," he said firmly and shut the door behind himself. "I already let you go once today, I'm not about to make the same mistake again."

"I'm not _going_ anywhere," Steve said tiredly, waving a hand at the chair he was sitting in. He knew it wasn't going to be enough to discourage whatever mission Danny seemed to be on, but it was worth a try.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Talk to me. Please."

"I need some time to think, Danno." Vague, but it was the truth. He needed to think, figure out how to go on. Because he couldn't just let the chaos invade this part of his life, too. What if next time he did more than just forget something? What if next time he really got someone hurt?

"About what?"

"Everything."

Heaving a sigh, Danny walked over to one of the armchairs and sat down. "Travis' death wasn't your fault. He came at you, you were only defending yourself."

"I know, Danny."

"I'm sorry that I talked to Denning behind your back. I didn't think about how you'd feel about it, I just– From where I stood it looked like he was leaving you out in the cold . . . and after everything you've done for him–"

"It's fine, Danny," Steve said, meaning it. He knew his partner far too well to mistake his protective instincts for betrayal. "We're good."

Danny nodded, quickly flashing him a pained looking smile before he dropped his gaze. When he looked back up again, his expression was serious, his eyes heavy with unmasked concern. "Are you, too?" Danny asked quietly. "I mean . . . are you okay?"

"Danny, I–"

"Don't say you're fine," he said softly and then started to say something else, but it was like he couldn't quite find the right words. After a moment, he closed his mouth and shook his head slowly. "I just don't know what to do," he eventually admitted with a shrug. "Promise you'll come to me if there's anything I _can_ do."

"I will." The answer was so easy, Steve almost managed a reassuring smile. Because there wasn't going to be anything Danny could do. And even if there was, Steve wouldn't drag him or Kono or Chin or anyone else into this. Not again. Not after what happened with Jenna, not after North Korea. He would make sure that none of them would risk their lives over this mess ever again.

"Good." Danny didn't look convinced, but he seemed to be satisfied for the moment. Standing up, he jerked his chin towards the desk. "Your badge and gun are where you left 'em."

"Thanks."

"I'm sure Denning will officially lift the suspension when you go talk–"

"Hey!" Chin said, sticking his head through the door. "Kono just told me the news. Sorry I wasn't here."

"And you shouldn't be here now," Steve said, frowning at the clock on his desk. "Don't you have to start preparing for that home-cooked meal you were planning for Malia?"

"I just met with her at the hospital. We rescheduled," Chin said with a rueful smile.

"But your anniversary is today," Steve insisted.

"I wanted to be here."

"Well, there's nothing to be here for now, so why don't you get out of here and work your kitchen magic for that beautiful wife of yours," Steve said, forcing a smile.

"Yeah, Chin, get out of here," Danny said, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "Cook, bring leftovers tomorrow."

Chin chuckled. "You sure?" He asked seriously, looking to both of them for confirmation.

"Go," Steve said.

Chin nodded, smiling gratefully. "You call if you need anything," he said, raising an eyebrow at Steve. "Any time."

"I'm good."

Danny tightened the grip of his hand that still lingered on Chin's shoulder and gently but firmly steered him towards the door. "Don't worry, man. I'll take care of him. Feed him a good meal, make sure he gets into bed early."

"Alright," Chin said and, with a soft push from Danny, walked out into the main room.

"You gonna tuck me in, too, Danno?"

"I'll even read you a bedtime story, if that's what it takes."

Steve huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Danny was probably being serious. "I'm sure Gracie would appreciate that story a lot more than me."

"Actually, she recently informed me that she's getting too old for that kind of stuff."

"I'm sorry, man," Steve said with a chuckle. "Look, as much as I enjoy a good story, I think I really do need some time to figure some stuff out."

"Ah, you don't know what you're missing, buddy," Danny said and the smile on his lips looked like it was hard work. "I can do voices."

Snorting, Steve nodded. "Some other time maybe. Denning's probably gonna have some questions tomorrow, so I guess I should better come up with some answers."

"Right," Danny said and shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "Listen, about Denning. He said some things . . . That he might be facing some heat for this whole thing and that– that . . ."

"What?" Steve frowned. It wasn't like Danny to struggle with words like this. Whatever else Denning had said, it had to be bad.

Danny bit down on his bottom lip and then shook his head. "You know what, forget about it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

The assurance didn't sound convincing, not with the way the corner of Danny's mouth kept twitching nervously. But Steve just nodded, not wanting to pry. At least not now, not when he needed time to think. Figure out how to gain back control over his life.

_- to be continued -_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Steve got home about an hour later. Alone. Everyone had accepted that he wanted some time to himself.

As it got dark outside, he found himself sitting in the study at his dad's old desk, staring at the Champ box in which he still kept all the pieces of evidence his father had collected – even after it had been stolen and its contents had been returned to him piece by piece. The stuff belonged in there, like the box itself was just another piece of the puzzle that he still hadn't been able to put together.

The thing somehow reminded him of Pandora's box. Nothing good had come out of it. The only difference was that there sure as hell was no hope left in it either.

He didn't intend to open the box tonight. Not that it would change anything, all the evils had already been released and couldn't be just locked back inside. Instead, they seemed to be spreading, slowly invading other parts of his life. Parts that he couldn't afford to be affected by the secrets and the lies and everything else. He couldn't let these things distract him from doing his job right. There was too much at stake. He couldn't risk other people getting hurt just because Shelburne and Joe and Wo Fat were on his mind.

More important things.

Yeah, maybe finding Joe, getting answers about Shelburne and locking Wo Fat away were more important to him than having a healthy, rich breakfast. But were they really more important than Five-0, than putting the scum that destroyed lives on this island behind bars? Wasn't it selfish of him to let his own demons get in the way of his promise to protect and serve the people of Hawaii?

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. It didn't matter anyway. Because even if he was being selfish, there was nothing he could do to change the fact that his job was starting to be affected by that other part of his life. And from here on out, things could only get worse – that much had become very clear today. The mess with Shelburne and everything connected to it wasn't something that could be compartmentalized, not anymore. It had gotten far too big to fit inside a box – he couldn't just lock it away, block it all out and be somebody else when he wore the badge.

The balance he had been trying to maintain had been disrupted, his grip on the situation was slipping.

Fight or flight.

That was what it came down to.

It was up to him. All he had to do was choose, do what he should have done months ago. Before his friends had risked their lives for him. Before Jenna had given hers.

Give up, admit defeat. Or take back control.

…

It was late, a little after eleven, when Steve walked into the anteroom of Denning's office. The room was dark, his assistant long gone home for the night. Denning hadn't, though. Steve had seen light in the windows of his office from the parking lot.

Taking one last, deep and deliberate breath, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," Denning's voice droned from inside, sounding as if he wasn't aware of the time.

Firmly gripping the handle, Steve pushed the door open and walked inside.

"Commander," Denning greeted, eyes narrowing apprehensively.

"Sir."

Sitting behind his desk, Denning looked at him for a long moment with pursed lips – as if he wasn't sure whether to say something or not. Eventually, he simply shook his head and waved a hand to the chairs in front of his desk. "Come on, sit." He dropped his elegant pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair, watching Steve closely as he nodded and took a seat. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

"I need a favor," Steve stated simply.

Denning just quirked an eyebrow at the request. With one hand, he gestured to a well stocked serving cabinet to his left. "Can I offer you drink?"

Steve shook his head no.

Folding his hands above his stomach, Denning tilted his head to the side. "What do you need?"

"Time. Resources."

"To do what?"

"To make sure I can do my job right again."

The left corner of Denning's mouth twitched up and he dropped his eyes to his hands for a short moment. "And what job exactly are you talking about?" he asked, looking up to meet Steve's eye again.

The question surprised Steve. "I'm sorry?" he asked, not sure what Denning meant.

"I was just wondering. Are you talking about your job as head of my task force? Or are you talking about your personal vendetta?"

"Sir, I don't–"

"Nine months ago," Denning cut in, his voice still calm, "when you requested that I reinstate Five-0, you asked me to do it so that you could bring in Wo Fat."

"I know, Sir, but–"

"See, when you're talking about the job, I'm not quite sure what exactly you're referring to," Denning said frowning, the tone of his voice hardening, "bringing down one man or protecting the people of Hawaii."

"Both," Steve stated firmly without thinking about it. "Sir, I'm not going to lie to you. I am not going to stop looking for Wo Fat until he is locked inside a cell without any chance of ever getting out again. But you knew that when you reinstated the task force."

"I did," Denning admitted with just a hint of a smile. "Make no mistake, Commander. I, too, want the bastard behind bars. What I'm concerned about is your personal involvement in all this. It's easy to lose sight of the big picture when you are too focused on just one man."

"I know, sir. That's why I'm here."

"I'm listening."

Steve inhaled a deep breath before he started to speak again. "As you know, Wo Fat is after someone or something called Shelburne. Joe White, he told me Shelburne was an alias he used when he killed Wo Fat's father. But I don't think that's the truth." He paused, looking for some kind of a reaction from Denning, but his face remained impassive. "I believe that Shelburne is the reason why my parents were murdered, I just– I don't know how it's all connected. I need to go and find Shelburne. Before I can get back to doing this job . . . I'm going to need some answers."

"Commander, I appreciate your position, but I can't send the team on a wild goose chase–"

"Not the team, sir," Steve said quickly, shaking his head. "I need to do this alone," he added, putting as much determination into his voice as he could muster. "As you said, this is personal. Wo Fat has hurt enough people I care about. I will not put anyone else in harm's way over this."

"No one but yourself," Denning noted softly.

"I need to do this. With your blessing or without it."

Denning just looked at him for a long moment, as if he was looking for something particular in the expression on his face. Steve held the man's gaze, hoping he looked at least half as sure about this as he felt.

"If you're going to do this no matter what I say then why are you even here?" Denning asked eventually.

"Because this job means a lot to me. And I know I'm asking a lot, but I was hoping that it would still be here for me by the time I get back."

Pursing his lips, Denning nodded, his expression softening perceptibly. "Commander, in spite of our occasional differences, I do appreciate what you're doing for the people of this State. And I'm not just talking about the team you put together, but also you personally."

"Thank you, sir," Steve said with a frown, slightly taken aback by the unexpected compliment.

"Finding an adequate replacement would be a pain and, frankly, I don't have the time to look."

"Sir?"

"How much time do you need?" It wasn't a 'yes', but with Denning, Steve didn't really expect to get any direct answer.

"As long as it takes."

"Fair enough. When are you leaving?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?" Denning asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I can't waste any more time." Because he had already wasted months. Waiting. For Wo Fat to make his next move. For Joe to finally tell him the truth about everything. He should have known better. Problems didn't get solved by waiting for the solution come to you.

"What about the rest of the team? Have you told them yet?"

"No," Steve said, setting his jaw. This was the hardest part. Leaving without telling anyone, not even Danny. It felt like betrayal. But it was the only way to make sure no one else got hurt. "If I tell them before I leave they're not going to let me go alone." The only way to keep them safe. They had already followed him to North Korea, not knowing if any of them would even be able to return home – to the people they loved. The people who loved and needed _them_ – more than he did. He couldn't risk to let that happen again.

"They are good people." Denning smiled softly. "Are you sure you don't need any back-up?"

"No, I'm not," Steve answered honestly. He had no idea what he was walking into, what to expect. He probably could use some back-up. "But as I've said, I'm not putting anyone else in danger over this. Not the team, not anyone else."

"You said something about resources. What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing in particular." He shrugged, glad to be moving on to a slightly different topic. "I have a lot contacts in the Navy, some favors to cash in. But I'm not sure what to expect, so–"

"Well, you have my number, Commander. I'm not making any promises, but you know how to reach me."

"Thank you, sir," Steve said with an appreciative nod, getting up from the chair. "For everything."

Denning simply nodded and stood, too. "Godspeed, Commander."

…

_Partner,_

_I'm sorry I couldn't be there in person to tell you this, but I need to find Joe White. I think he lied to me about the identity of Shelburne and I need to get the truth. Shelburne is the real reason my father was murdered, and maybe even my mother. And until I get some answers I can't do this job right._

_Danno, I'm going to need you to hold down the fort for a while. I'll be in touch._

_Mahalo_

Steve re-read the letter a few times after he had finished writing it. It was a compromise – a far cry from what Danny deserved, but a lot more than what he felt was safe to offer. And he couldn't just leave without an explanation. There was, after all, a chance that he might not come back at all.

With a sigh, he folded the letter, slid it into an envelope and wrote the name on it.

_Danno_

With the letter in his hand, he got up from the desk and walked over to the door to his office. He flipped the light switch and turned to look over his shoulder. He never spent much time in this room, tried to avoid it, actually. The paper work wasn't exactly his favorite part of the job. But still, he already missed this place.

Sucking in a deep breath, he turned around and walked across the dark main room. The door to Danny's office stood slightly ajar. Steve pushed it open and, reluctantly, walked into his partner's office. This was it. This was goodbye.

Laying the letter down on the desk, carefully, Steve suddenly felt like a coward, like he was cheating Danny out of something – maybe his chance to say goodbye. All of this wasn't fair to him. But it was the only way to make sure Danny wouldn't be in the seat next to him on the plane to Japan that would take off from Wheeler at 0230 sharp. And he really couldn't let Danny come with him. Gracie, smiling at him from the pictures on his partner's desk was all the confirmation Steve needed. She needed Danno more than he did.

"Goodbye Danno. See you soon."

_- The End-_

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, so . . . this is it. I hope you enjoyed this last (rather short) chapter. I want to thank everyone who actually made it all the way to the end. Thanks for sticking around and a huge thank you to those who kindly shared their thoughts on each chapter. I really, really appreciate it!


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